


The Lines On My Face, The Lines On My Hands

by FactorialRabbits



Series: The Miles To Go Before We Sleep [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acceptance, Arwen and Galadriel appear in more minor roles later, Attempted Murder, Dissociation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Family Drama, Family Reunions, Graphic descriptions of injury, Hurt/Comfort, I do promise at least some instances of gratuitous fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loneliness, Maglor comes to Imladris by means not entirely his own, Mental Health Issues, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, References to Torture, Self-Acceptance, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, aftermath of Celebrían's departure, but not successful, character and relationship tags subject to change as I change my mind on plot progression, discussion of suicide, discussions of death and hope, family and healing and a lack thereof, healing is neither linear nor pretty, hope is scary, implied/referenced child neglect and endangerment, it is however still very much about healing as opposed to the events leading to healing being needed, many awful things from the silmarillion are discussed, this was supposed to be happy and now well look at the tags, various minor OCs to fill gaps in Elrond's household, which is always nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/pseuds/FactorialRabbits
Summary: Nearly eighty years after Celebrían left Middle Earth to seek healing, the people of Imladris have yet to quite move on. But when a simple task of 'make sure the road is clear' ends in the Elladan and Elrohir bringing home a seriously injured and sorely missed elf, the entire household is forced to re-examine just what they are to each other, and to themselves.Alternatively: Maglor is bought to Imladris, setting off a chain of discussions, setting off a chain of events, that eventually lead to everyone being a little more sure of their place in the world.





	1. Elladan: Nothing Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This has been through many, many itterations and slightly different versions, and a few significantly different ones. It is planned only so far with some general 'I want to do this thing' things.  
> It was supposed to be happy. And then it wasn't. Well, it's still sort of happy in that people come home and everyone is safe and cared for, even when being cared for is painful.
> 
> Current theme music and where I stole the title from: Where Are We Going From Here by Blackmore's Night. TBH this is kind of my theme music for many things in this fandom.

Elladan and Elrohir sat on their horses, looking out over the ocean. From their position, they could confirm the entire route to the Havens free of Orcs; it could be seen just to the south, and there were no orcs to be seen between here and there. So, they took the time to consider their next move, half an eye each out for trouble.

It had been their father who had sent them to patrol the East-West Road. They would have preferred to go hunting in the mountains with the Dúnedain, and said as much, but then their father's face had morphed into one of his horrible expressions of emotional suppression. For all their complaints as they prepared for the journey, neither had been able to resist their father's request after that. Especially when he was allowing them to travel without Glorfindel, as he had not for many years. Not since one of their unauthorised escapades had left Elladan so close to death that the heavily poisoned Elrohir had believed himself to be bringing a corpse home, not a brother.

As they discussed their options - visit Círdan, return home, ignore the hesitant trust their father was beginning to give again and go exploring - there came to hear an unsettling, mournful wailing. The pitch was peculiar, almost incomprehensibly so, but still distinctly elven. Or maybe a maiar, but certainly not a mortal race. Whomever it belonged to, their cries echoed with pain and longing and unending grief. Elladan, noticing it first, looked to Elrohir, whose ears perked up a just moment later. 

Less than a second of a glance, the slightest nod of a head, and the brothers were moving as one. As children of Elrond and Celebrían, two of the most caring elves in all the world, they could not leave someone in such pain. Elrohir had seemed to Elladan to hesitate in agreeing to search for the source, but he could not quite comprehend how someone might be able to ignore such a cry. But when he thought about it, that was how dark spirits lured their victims to their dooms - surely this was not, though. And if it were, the twins could defend each other.

They rode carefully along the edge of the cliff, away from the Havens, until it had levelled out to little more than a grassy dune at the edge of the sand. It was there they laid eyes on the source of the wailing; on the sand a figure sat, covered in shred of filthy fabrics and hands lying in his lap. The figure rocked back and forth and back and forth, and seemed to carry no possessions. No bag, no cloak, no fire or food. This close, the sheer anguish of the cries was almost unbearable to hear.

Elladan was about to go to the figure, caution be damned the other was clearly suffering, when Elrohir grabbed his wrist.

"Dismount first. Horses do not manage the sand well," Elrohir paused a second, but did not let go. "And be careful. You know what father says about approaching people in distress."

He did not, in fact, remember what father says about approaching people in distress, but nodded anyway. Elrohir had always been the slightly more studious, slightly more medically inclined, of the two. He would follow his lead, and act as he was told.

They tied up their horses and made their way across the sand. Elladan carried the medical bad for Elrohir; in the last of their skirmishes along the road, Elrohir had torn a ligament in his right shoulder. It was currently useable, though both of the twins were aware that even a little more stress would likely tear the joint through completely, leaving the arm useless until he could rest and heal. 

The twins stopped a little way from the figure, where the pulse of the wailing was almost too strong to resist. Elladan was reminded of the spirits once again; it felt almost as though the wails were both pulling them towards and away from the figure. The wails both trying to push them away from and draw them towards their doom.

Elladan shook his head; that was ridiculous. From here he could see that figure was clearly an elf. He was filthy, shivering as though sitting were more exertion than his body could manage, or maybe from a coldness that did not truly exist. A face that was gaunt from starvation and gazing out over the sea. Every bit of visible flesh had been burnt to peeling by the sun, some of it ripped into tiny tears where sand had been blown in his face. He seemed unaware of the twins, continuing his lament as though nothing had happened, verbalising wordless and unending sorrows to the sea. Something about him seemed oddly familiar to Elladan, though he could not place it. Maybe once upon a time he had met this elf or a relative thereof at a party? Certainly, before whatever happened to him had happened - the only elf he had seen quite so gaunt or lost was their mother. Though she had been pale, paler than death, not red with sunburn but with her own, congealing blood.

He shuddered at the memory, suppressing it. Busy fighting it from his mind, he failed to notice Elrohir step forwards. Up until the moment he called out to the figure in the most common of the elvish tongues.

"Greetings!"

The elf before them seemed not to notice, or if he did he made no attempt at a reply. Not even a movement to show he had heard them.

It would be very unusual to find an elf who did not speak Sindarin, or could not at least extrapolate some sort of meaning, and the elf should really be able to work out that someone had said something regardless. Still, he was obviously distressed. Maybe too distressed to remember? Almost certainly to think clearly.

"Excuse me!" Elladan tried, in Westron. It would be an uncommon language for an elf to remember when Sindarin was forgotten, but if said elf had spent a lot of time around men...

Still, no response. Disappointing, but to be expected really.

The twins were silent for a while, trying to think of new approach. Elladan found it difficult to do so; the wailing seemed to be trying to claw into his mind. Approaching without permission would probably scare the other, and they did not want the elf to flee before they could check on him. Or for him to attack them in panic - just think of what happened to Beleg in the old tales. Elladan shifted slightly, wracking through his brain.

Well, there was one language he knew left that might work. And it was unlikely to hurt to try.

"Salutations!"

The Quenya finally earnt a response. The elf tensed, hunching protectively over his hands, eyes glancing around fearfully. Eventually they met Elrohir's. Elladan was glad they did not meet his; the eyes were as ancient and tree-lit as Glorfindel's, but filled with panic and anguish and uncertainty. When their eyes met, the elf attempted to rise, to scramble away from them both. But the moment his hands touched the ground, he let out an agonising scream.

If they had thought the wailing was like having claws grasping their brains, this was more like having their souls ripped apart. Thankfully, it lasted only a moment.

"Shhhh, it will be alright. We will not hurt you," Elladan attempted to reassure, quickly unbuckling his sword belt and dropping to his knees. He had never really understood the need for Quenya lessons - outside their house only Galadriel spoke it regularly, and inside it was still an oddity to hear - but he put up with them to make father smile. Turns out it did have uses - communicating with terrified elves.

A moment after, Elrohir copied him - also putting his weapon to the ground and kneeling. The elf stayed where he was, hunched over with his hands huddled into his chest, staring at the twins in abject terror. But at least the wailing had halted.

Elrohir and Elladan shared a look; this was well beyond their expertise, beyond even what they knew conceptually. But they could not quite bring themselves to leave. Even if they were leaving to get more experienced help. Elladan was reasonably certain that, if they did go, then they would never find this elf again - and he would be alone with whatever was troubling him so much, injured and without supplies on the shoreline. He needed help, help they knew not how to provide, but they could at least try to take him to someone who could. Maybe he was one of Círdan's elves who had become lost? No, Elladan dismissed the idea immediately, he was sure he knew something about this elf, and that did not match the idea just outside of reach.

"Are you thirsty?" Elrohir was the next to speak, also switching to Quenya.

When he received no reply, Elrohir picked up his water skin, and pushed it towards the other elf. He flinched backwards, curling tighter as Elrohir came closer, but once he retreated, shifted forwards. One hand shakily came out, trying to pick it up. But then the hand made contact with the leather, and he gave another short scream of agony. Curled back once more, water bottle abandoned as he huddled in pain.

Elladan could not see the hands, but whatever injuries they had sustained could be nothing short of horrific, to elicit that reaction from one so dehydrated his lips cracked to bleeding with every opening of his mouth. The elf looked despairingly at the water skin, whimpering and cradling his hands.

They remained in the stand-off a while longer.

"Will you let me help?" Elrohir asked, finally.

This time the elf nodded. Incredibly slowly, hesitantly almost. Elrohir moved just as slowly, stopping each time the elf flinched and waiting until permission was again granted to approach. He picked up the water skin on the way, quickly unstoppering it.

Eventually he came beside the other elf, and Elladan was distinctly aware of how his twin was unarmed and in easy attacking range. He expected there to be no intentional trouble - this was  _not_ some spirit of the elder age here to eat their souls. He failed to convince himself, but took comfort that, if something did go wrong, he was here to intervene.

But nothing did. It took some very careful manoeuvring, but eventually Elrohir managed to get the water skin to the elf's mouth without causing an excess of distress. Some, but not an excess. Elladan did not miss the sickened look that passed over his brother's face when he glanced towards the hands, or the slight healing glow around Elrohir's hand as his hand brushed against the elf's face. The elf remained oblivious to both. He was too busy drinking, almost like he had forgotten what water was, and whining once more when Elrohir took it away. 

"Forgive me. I do not wish to make you ill."

It was a reasonable concern, but that did not mean anyone was happy about the situation. The three of them sat awkwardly for another moment, the elf eyeing the water skin and the twins trying to work out just what to do.

"Will you come with us to Imladris, the halls of our father? It is a place of safety and healing, from which none will be turned away," Elrohir's offer was almost hesitant.

Elladan was not sure they should burden father, not so soon after mother had sailed, not whilst he was still recovering himself. Still clung to his children a little too tightly, like they might disappear on the next wind. Given father's history, it did not seem such an unreasonable fear. 

But then, what else could they do? They could not stand to just leave the elf here. He supposed they could take him to Círdan - he was closer, after all - but in Elladan's mind a slightly clearer idea of who this might be was forming, and Círdan may not be best pleased if his suspicions were correct. May even pose a danger to the other elf.

Maybe it would not matter - it was possible they could not convince him to come at all. That, the idea of leaving this elf to suffer here alone when they inevitably returned home, hurt more than it should.

"Do you have anyone we can take you to? We wish to ensure your safety," Elrohir tried instead - Elladan knew the answer would be no even before the question was answered. 

It took a few moments for either of them to realise that the reply from the elf was distorted, hysterical laughter. With it, the elf managed to choke out a single word - "why".

"Because you are suffering," Elrohir offered. "And we wish for you not to be."

The laughter pitched upwards, louder, awful and more disturbing than the wail. Elladan braced himself and shuffled closer to his brother. He had been thinking, examining his memory for where this elf had come from. And finally, he had managed to 

He could not be sure if what he was about to say was good, or helpful, or really anything. But he had to try, had to know - and knew that if he was right and they left him here, and father found out, it would absolutely shatter his already broken heart.

"Because you are Makalaurë Kanafinwë, known as Maglor Fëanorion," Elladan whispered the words, not wanting even the seagulls to hear them tell this secret. "And our father is Elrond Peredhel, who loves and grieves for you."

The laughter immediately collapsed into horrific, heart-rendering, half-silent sobs.

 


	2. Elrohir: Riding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which food is eaten, travelling is done, Elrohir plays healer, and Elladan puts his foot down as the elder twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a bad person. This was just supposed to be our current cast having dinner and a road trip. The next update will probably take longer because I want to go write something cheerful after having worked on this "chapter" for 18 hours of my life.
> 
> Extreme liberties have been taken with biology. Some spelling mistakes are possible. Also may I highlight the content warning for descriptions of injury.

From his reaction, Elrohir could only presume that Elladan was correct and this was indeed the infamous Maglor Fëanorian; his brother had always been the more observant, the quicker to put two and two together. The quicker in general. They stayed close, but did not speak to their crying charge. Instead, they started making a small fire and preparing some food.

Sometime later he stopped sobbing, but instead stared blankly at the ocean. On Elladan's suggestion, the twins turned their discussion to how amazing their family - and they themselves - were. Loudly. Elrohir could not quite work out why they were doing it, but trusted Elladan's judgement. The game of trying to make each other blush with compliments was, at least, amusing.

Finally, when their voices were almost lost, and lunch was almost burnt to cinders, Maglor looked up. He glanced from one twin to the other, scowling with confusion. Elladan waved before turning his attention back to the stew. Elrohir somehow ended up in a staring contest. One which was getting uncomfortably long, but he refused to lose. The longer he stared, the more certain he was that Maglor's eyes were bright with fever as well as the Light of the Trees. But then, he had not made a study of high elven eyes, and they did not exactly get ill. Unless, of course it came from an injury. Maglor did have injuries, which might be infected - it would probably be wise to check. Still, Elrohir silently continued the staring contest.

"Will you permit me tend to your hands whilst lunch is rescued?" he eventually offered, as his eyes started to smart.

Maglor squinted at him for another long while, before hesitantly nodding. As he did so, his eyes shut for a moment, then he started intensely studying the sand. Elladan appeared a moment later, passing Elrohir their medical pack. He set it to one side, waving his brother off, and waited to be sure that Maglor was paying attention to him.

After another long moment, his eyes flickered up. Elrohir did his best to smile. Tried not to remember the horrific glances of the hands he had seen earlier, "I will need to touch them to do so. Is that alright?"

Once satisfied that he had both understanding and consent from the patient, Elrohir gently tugged the first hand towards him. Seeing it curled up, he cautiously unfolded the fingers. Maglor's breath hitched as he did so, but his face remained expressionless. Satisfied that this was within acceptable levels of agony, Elrohir looked closer at the hand he had taken.

His stomach twisted, and he gagged as he studied it - Maglor's entire form was sunburnt and cut and withered, but the hands -he did not doubt that the burns were the burns of the silmaril for no other burn could ever be quite so cruel - but it had been thousands of years! They should not have still been ashen, blood seeping out between cracks in the skin and blisters oozing precious, precious fluid. Of which Maglor could not possibly have enough. Other parts of his hands were so heavily burnt that they were blackened and misshapen - bits of flesh had been entirely burnt away. Usually such burns would at least destroy the nerves, rendering them painless if disabling. But, when Elrohir ran his finger along the injury, Maglor's flinching revealed it not to be so. To lose so much flesh yet keep the nerves functional could only be the mark of magic. Horrific, torturous magic. 

Laying the hand on his own lap a moment, he searched the pack for his herbs and ointments. Most of what they carried was not for such severe injuries - and even the little they did carry were for injuries of riding and combat, not burns. Still, there were a few things that could be of use. As satisfied as was possible with what he had found, he took the softest of his cloths and began to clean to injuries. Still, no matter how gentle he was, the contact looked to be agony for Maglor; he whined and flinched and sometimes drew his hand away for a few moments, before hesitantly returning it. And no matter what he tried, Elrohir could not get them clean; sand had become embedded within the flesh itself.

Once he could do no more, he applied a cream for the pain, and another - one he knew to be safe to mix with the first - to serve as an antiseptic. He could only hope that the granules of sand do not infect the injury; praying was not going to be helpful, given their patient's identity. Finally, he wrapped the hand in soft linen, bandages thicker than strictly necessary.

Then he took the other hand, and audibly gagged. This one - the left - was even worse. The swelling and redness of infection was already set in, the flesh sticky with pus and warm to the touch. The ooze from the blisters was not clear as on the right, but clouded and foul-smelling. He had no idea how quickly infection spread in the calaquendi, but reckoned that this must have been a relatively new development; despite some spots of dead flesh in the immediate vicinity of the infected areas, its spread was still very limited. As he touched it during the examination, Maglor screamed. But, unlike the right, the left hand did not even twitch. Nerve damage, possibly, but that was far, far beyond his skills. Elrohir treated it as best he could, washing it and providing pain ointment and rubbing as much antiseptic as he dared into the broken skin, before binding it carefully. He washed his hands, noting that they would need to stop at a stream and gather more water soon.

Now that the hands were seen to, he pressed the back of his hand to Maglor's forehead. As he had suspected, it was warm with fever and damp with sweat. Not warm enough that the fever itself was life threatening, but more than that Elrohir could not quite scale. It did, however, confirm that the infection had spread; antiseptic cream alone was unlikely to be enough. Squirreling in the depths of his pack Elrohir found a concoction for fever and a bottle containing a liquid antibiotic. For once in his life he thanked the Valar his father's suffocating worry and doubts about their abilities - each had a label explaining how best to use them. Or maybe that had been Erestor; he was always more concerned about the twins catching 'some awful mortal disease' than father. It took him only a few moments to measure them into a dish and help Maglor drink. Elrohir almost laughed as Maglor's nose crinkled in response to the foul taste - it looked more like father when disgruntled than anyone else he had ever met.

With that complete, there was only one thing Elrohir do further; he did not have nearly enough ointment to treat the sunburn, and the herbs he would need to make more did not grow along their route. Still, he decided he could probably manage a few, basic enchantments. After giving a quick glance to Elladan - making sure that his brother was willing and able to look after both their patient and him if he overreached - and receiving a grim nod in return, Elrohir began to hum a few of the short tunes father had taught him. 

His skills were not as well trained as father's, and likely never would be, but he was still of the blood of Melian. One was to speed the ointments and concoctions, pushing the potency of the herbs to its limits. The next was of strength to the healthy flesh surrounding the infected areas, offering it a little more resilience against spread. Then he sang of pain relief and strengthening to Maglor's whole body. These charms were even weaker than his others, but they were all he could safely perform. Hopefully they would be sufficient for the ride home.

If Maglor would even come with them, of course. If not... Well, there was little they could do, but at least he would be in slightly less pain, would have been shown a little kindness, before he inevitably died of the infection or orcs or simply faded away to nothing.

"All finished," Elrohir placed Maglor's heavily bandaged hands gently down, the ancient elf slowly curling them protectively back against his chest.

Elladan glanced at him; Elrohir waved him off, but could already feel the exhaustion of healing settling in.

"My brother and I need to leave soon; father is expecting us home, and any delay to our arrival will only upset him. I am sure you know how he worries," Elladan was speaking, tone light. "So, we shall share our lunch with you, then leave after. If you are wanting to come along, father would most certainly welcome you, but if you are not we can leave you with some food and water and painkillers." Maglor went to try and speak, but he was patted to silence. "No need to decide yet. You can have lunch to think about it."

It was at that moment that a bowl of broth was thrust in Maglor's direction. He stared at it for a moment, almost confused, then at his hands. The look he then gave Elrohir seemed to hold a memory of exasperation. It did not take Elrohir long to work out the problem. 

"Dan, can you bring me something over, too? Just put it on the sand," He smiled as he took the bowl from his brother, not bothering to listen to the reply.

Elrohir shifted to sit cross-legged, and balanced Maglor's bowl between his legs. Carefully, he checked the temperature of the broth.

"You are lucky I noticed first. Elladan would insist on pretending the spoon was a boat," Elrohir attempted to amuse the other.

The comment was not dignified with a response. Elladan appeared a moment later, placing Elrohir's bowl next to him. Elrohir used his left hand to eat his own food, his right to feed Maglor, and his thighs to stop the food ending up all over the floor. It was awkward to use his injured arm for this, but he managed with within minimal discomfort. 

Maglor was about as poor a lunch partner as it was possible to be, making no conversation and replying not even to direct questions. He stared at the broth as though he was uncertain where it came from, not quite making the connection between the elves and the spoon and the dish. At least, Elrohir assumed it was missing connections and not that the twins had been forgotten already. Either was possible - fever did weird things to the mind. 

Yet still Maglor sipped the food as though this mysteriously appearing food was a gift from the Valar themselves. That is to say, a glorious and much sought-after gift he had lost all right to and would never again deserve. Having heard of his crimes, Elrohir was inclined towards agreeing. But then 'deserve' did not factor into discussions of food and water and medical attention.

Elladan filled the silence with meaningless chatter, so Elrohir spent lunch ignoring him and trying to list things he knew about Maglor. He was not certain of a lot; father was always hesitant to speak of him too much, and when he did it was with the most terrible of his pained expressions. One he had only otherwise seen when father had realised he could not heal mother. 

He knew father considered Maglor, and his brother Maedhros, his parents- atto and atar, he respectively called them, whilst Eärendil was atya. He knew that some of their staff were once loyal to the Fëanorian brothers, though they blended in well and, even with each other, spoke of it not for fear of retribution. He knew that father had a painting of all seven sons of Fëanor and a young Celebrimbor hung above the mantel in his private rooms, and that the man before him somewhat resembled the one father had pointed out as Maglor. Certainly, he could have done if he was well. He knew he was a kinslayer and singer, and his part in the histories - father might not have discussed feelings about it often, but he had ensured all his children were educated in events. He knew father had searched for Maglor for centuries and never once found him - eventually he had convinced himself Maglor had drowned when Bereliand sank. He knew his father loved the Fëanorian brothers just as much as his birth parents, if not more, and that he could not speak of them easily as a direct result of this. Because they were his family and he loved them, but they were forever sundered from him. It was the same reason that father rarely spoke of Elros.

He knew that that seeing anyone in such a state as Maglor was now - but especially someone his father loved - would break father's heart.

But he was absolutely certain that, if father found out they had seen Maglor and not at least tried to bring him back, they would never be forgiven. Especially if Maglor died because of it. And it would finally shatter him into a thousand tiny pieces - so many that nobody would be able to put him back together.

Given he would not lie to father about this, even by omission, it seemed that trying to bring him back was the only option. Regardless of what other factors were involved, and how unhappy everyone except father would inevitably be about it.

Hopefully Erestor could fend off the inevitable arguments. Or, if not, Glorfindel would knock some sense into anyone causing trouble.

* * *

When they had all finished eating, Elrohir took the bowls to the ocean and rinsed them. Behind him, Elladan was trying to convince Maglor to accept a gift of one of Elladan's spare tunics and his cloak. In the end it seemed to have been settled by Elladan just dressing him in them, pulling the tunic over his rags and tossing the cloak over his shoulders. Elrohir took the opportunity to check on the horses and put what of their things he could carry away.

When he returned, Maglor seemed to be trying to wrap the cloak closer around himself without using his hands. Elrohir took pity on him, assisting then pinning it closed.

"Our offer still stands," Elrohir smiled as he spoke. "We do need to be leaving before father worries himself into thinking that we finally got ourselves killed, though. Do you wish to come with us?"

Maglor looked blankly at him for a moment, then seemed to struggle with deciding. Elrohir was inclined to let him choose, but Elladan had other ideas.

"Father - Elrond - would be very upset by the idea you even considered refusing."

Elrohir was about to scold his brother for attempting to emotionally guilt trip an incredibly fragile elf, when Maglor sighed but clearly nodded. And started trying to struggle to his feet.

That was all the permission Elladan needed to scoop him up and carry him over to the horses. He skilfully helped him balance on his own as he mounted behind, Elrohir hovering in case one of them fell. Only once Elrohir was certain they were both secure did he mount.  Elladan received a glare for his methodology, though Elrohir could not fault the fact it had achieved their actual goal. They did not want to give Maglor a choice really, they wanted him to come back with them. They were just unwilling to unambiguously kidnap him.

Early on their journey he was more aware, not joining in but visibly following their conversations. Even in Sindarin; Elrohir suspected that part of Maglor's confusion was related to the infection. Not all of it could be blamed on the fever, but it was a contributing factor. Maglor was still not entirely mentally present or grounded, and unmistakably unwell, but so long as the fever was kept under control he was conscious of, if confused by, his surroundings and company. But as time progressed, the infection continued to spread, and his awareness waned - quicker once the bottle of antibiotics ran out. Even with the twin’s best efforts, by the time they reached the Trollshaws he was nearly completely delirious. Mostly it was unending weeping, sometimes it was talking to long-dead relatives or uncomfortable, distant gazes and silence.

It was with relief that they passed over the Last Bridge late one evening; just another day or two and they would reach the Brunien and the safety of Imladris. Both twins were exhausted from riding hard with a delirious patient, who would have been trying to wander off every 'rest' break if he were physically capable of standing for more than a handful of steps. Despite Elrohir being more trained to keep an eye on his health, Maglor rode with Elladan; Elrohir's shoulder was yet to heal, thanks to his inability to both rest it and fully control his horse.

Once they had crossed, they stopped on the bank of the river; the horses needed watering, and it was as good a place as any to set up a camp for the night. Elladan started work on dinner, whilst Elrohir took Maglor aside to check on his injuries. Maglor was having what they would have called a bad but not terrible day at the start of the journey, but was now counted as pretty good. He did not even attempt verbal communication, but absently complied with simple requests. Like 'give me your hand' or 'drink this'. He seemed to be aware that they were not a threat without mistaking them for someone else, and when he wept it was quiet and did not have the force of his magical talents behind it.

"I am afraid it is that time of the evening again. Left hand first, please," Elrohir instructed, sitting in front of his patient.

Maglor complied without needing the instruction explaining or repeating, resting the hand on Elrohir's knee. Taking the knife from his belt, Elrohir cut the bandages away. The infection had spread further through the left hand, all of it now swollen, and the right was showing signs early signs of it. He did his best to treat them, explaining what he was doing as he did so. He had been about to start wrapping them again, when he heard something moving close by. And coming closer. Something which definitely did not smell like an elf.

"Ro! Company!" his twin yelled, having dropped the spoon and grabbed his bow.

Elrohir nodded and grabbed his weapons, cursing; he had been so distracted by how close they were to home he had not been paying proper attention. And for once Elladan had made the same mistake at the same time. Usually they covered for each other - just not today. From the corner of his eyes, Elrohir saw Maglor pick up his belt-knife and shift onto his heels.

Before he time to process that information properly, a small group of orcs crashed through the trees and up to their clearing. The twins moved closer together, blocking the route from the forest to either Maglor or the horses. The horses were, thankfully, slightly too stupid to realise the danger they were in.

The act of slaying orcs was methodical, if slightly less simple on foot than on horseback. They had no wargs with them and appeared to have no leader or structure. It was only their location that gave Elrohir cause for much concern - along the main path and this close to Imladris, they could well have troubled civilians passing through. People who would not have been able to defend themselves. But Elladan and Elrohir were well practiced in these things. They would quickly clear it up, and once again assure the safety of the path.

Beside him Elladan laughed as he killed the servants of the enemy, whilst Elrohir lost himself in the familiarity of the actions. There was something wonderfully distracting about the fighting. Swishing his sword, dodging and ducking and driving sharp points into tender, evil flesh. Watching the blood spurt as the enemies fell - even decapitating them and watching the heads roll.

It really should not have come as a surprise when an orc grabbed his injured arm; he should have been paying attention, especially with an injury.

But it did, and he was not.

The left wrist was held above his head, whilst the orc laughed and prepared to bring its sword down. Instinctively, Elrohir dodged - twisting the captured arm in the process.

He heard the pop as the tendons ripped through and the arm torn from the socket, yelling in agony before he'd quite noticed the pain. His scream was answered by Elladan's. Elrohir tried to call back, but failed to breathe enough. It only took him a second to get himself under control, but a second was too long - the orc still had him in its grasp, and its sword was swinging towards him. Desperately he yelled and tried to move, claws digging into his arm. Keeping him there. His mind was blank, frozen, consumed just by blind struggling. He did not hear, did not see, just tried to get out of the way.

At the last moment, he managed to pull lose. He threw himself away from the direction of the blow. Still it made contact - a ragged line from his hip to his knee was drawn down one leg. His leg fell from under him, even as Elladan charged over and felled the head from the abomination's shoulders.

"Elrohir!" Elladan's arms were wrapped around his twin before the orc's head even hit the ground.

As he applied too much pressure to his shoulder, Elrohir screamed again. Elladan immediately let go, "Sorry, sorry! Fuck! Are you-?!"

It took a few moments of Elladan's apologies for Elrohir to ground himself again, vision swimming desperately, "It is... You are supposed to be killing the orcs, Elladan!"

"That was the last of them; I promise you. I... What do you need?" Elladan calmed slightly upon hearing the words, though his eyes were still frantic as they scanned Elrohir's body. When there were a few moments of no reply he spoke again, "alright. I can work it out. Just... Wait there."

Well, at least waiting there was easy. In the time his brother was collecting the packs from the horses, Elrohir managed to regain control of his senses. It was with a little surprise that he noticed Maglor knelt in front of him, humming something. Elrohir nearly laughed at the juxtaposition; the ancient kinslayer was covered from head to foot in thick blood, Elrohir's belt knife clasped in one hand, humming as though he were a maidservant scrubbing the floors. Still, there was something like concern on his face as he stared at Elrohir.

"Feeling any better?" Elladan reappeared, dragging Elrohir's pack. His voice was distressed. "Also, no, I did not get injured. Because unlike someone I know I did not go rushing orcs with an injury."

"I am sorry, Elladan," and it was true; maybe not for killing the orcs, but for scaring him.

"Better. Dad's going to have a fit when he hears about this."

"Do we have to tell him?"

"We are almost home, this wound on your leg is probably poisoned, I know we ran out of herbs for the antidotes a month ago, and if our murder grandpa was not still perfectly capable of the murdering part despite running a fever so high he cannot seem to remember what a horse is, you would be dead. You are going straight home, and dad is going to fuss over you for an age and you are never leaving the house again!" Elladan's voice rose higher and higher as he cleaned and bound the cut. It was not deep, but the veins around were starting to darken.

"When did he become grandpa?" was probably not what Elrohir should have been questioning.

"About the moment he cut open an orc's shoulder with nothing but your belt knife so my idiot little brother could escape a skewering! Now shut up and let me fix your arm."

"Against the tree? It will be easier if I have something solid behind me."

It took only a couple of minutes for Elladan to tend to Elrohir's injuries. As well as binding, setting and cleaning, he sang pain relief into Elrohir's flesh. Of the family, Elladan's healing was the least well developed. The last thing he did was take the sword that had cut Elrohir, carefully wrap it and strap it to his brother's side - somewhere the healers would find it even if he was unconscious. Job done, Elladan sat back on his heels, and looked Elrohir in the eyes. They stayed like that until he curled in on himself and began to sob, "Ro... Fuck, Ro. If he had not- I cannot lose you. I- "

"I really am sorry," Elrohir carefully pulled his twin to his side. Elladan shivered against him for a time, crying the remainder of his panic onto his twin's bandages.

Elrohir was about to speak up when Elladan pulled away and spoke, "I know. You need to get home; I'll clean up and meet you there."

"Dad will be terrified if one of us shows up without the other."

"Dad destroy himself if you die. And I will follow you; get help and do not do that to us."

Elrohir's reply was cut off by a soft crashing sound. Immediately the twins reached for weapons and looked up, only to see Maglor now sprawled out on the grass a few steps from where they had left him. Laying in a pool of blood.

"Shit! I thought-" Elladan grabbed the bag and moved to his side.

Elrohir watched Elladan roll Maglor over and wipe away blood, seeking the injury. It was not  difficult to find; a deep, jagged gash across the stomach. From the colouration of the blood, Elrohir suspected some sort of organ damage. He limped over to help.

"How is he not-?"

"Calaquendi. Are weird. And tough as bulls," Elrohir cut his brother off. "But still die of blood loss. Can you follow instructions? With my arm..."

Elladan nodded, "as soon as this is sorted, you are going to father."

"... As soon as this is sorted, I shall take him to father. First, you need to cut away the cloth around the injury..."

Between them, the twins managed to stem the worst of the bleeding. On Elrohir's recommendation, Elladan forced the last of the fever medication down their patient's throat, before helping his brother to his horse. Elrohir took a few moments to find his balance properly, whilst Elladan carefully gathered Maglor into his arms. When he came back over, he looked hesitant.

"Can you even ride right now? With an unconscious passenger?"

"Give me a better plan," Elrohir stared his brother down. 

Elladan did not argue further, instead gently passing Maglor to his brother. As soon as they were in contact, Elrohir began to offer a very small but steady stream of healing power to Maglor, using the raw power of his fëa to keep the other's condition stable. He could not really afford to do so, but home was close, and the other option was his patient literally bleeding to death in his arms. Which was not really an option at all.

"Ride well and be safe, little brother," Elladan spoke, as Elrohir used his good arm to push Maglor into a more balanced position.

"If you find more than three orcs, come home and get help." 

Elladan did not reply, instead turning his attention to the horse, "I need you to get them home as fast as you can. I can trust you, yes?"

The horse seemed to get the idea, trotting over to the road, before picking up speed. Turning to look behind him, Elrohir saw Elladan watching and faking a smile. Praying that his brother, his charge and he would all make it home alive, he turned his attention to the road. If the horse kept up the pace, he would be home before dawn.

If she managed that, he might even get around to naming her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life lesson for the day: do not fight orcs injured. People will get very upset and maybe hurt themselves to save you.
> 
> Why is Calaquendi in Quenya not Sindarin? Because I like it better than Calbin. I'd make up a reason about how for the most part nobody bothers making the distinction bar the light-elves writing about themselves, but, well, that's not why I did it. Why does Elrond refer to all of his fathers in various forms of Quenya? Because he can.
> 
> I am not happy with this, but I haven't changed anything that made me happier about it fo the past 5 hours of attempting to fix it. So... I hope someone liked it!


	3. Erestor: Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor does not appreciate being woken up early. He really does not like being woken up early and having his husband run off to deal with errant children. He really, especially does not like being woken up early, having his husband run off to deal with errant children, and being given awful messages about said errant children to pass onto his Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. About writing something else next. Have this. Which is mostly an excuse for the fluff at each end, and Erestor the terrifyingly efficient blanket monster.

Erestor had been comfortable in Glorfindel's arms. It was warm and dark and, well, an overwhelming sense of safety. A safety soon broken by Glorfindel sitting up.

"What are you doing?" would have been a generous interpretation of Erestor's mumbling, as he clawed for his husband.

"I'm sorry to wake you, my dear. Someone is at the door," Glorfindel reached down to press a light kiss on his forehead, before disappearing from the bed entirely.

He knew he should probably also get up - it was still a few hours before dawn, so any interruption must have been serious. Nobody dared disturb the balrog-slayer's beauty sleep for anything less than a crisis. Sighing, he slipped out of bed and grabbed the blankets from the bed; if they wanted him up at this time, they would take him in whatever state he was. And right now, the state he most preferred to be in was warm. If it was an immediate concern, like there were orcs literally on the doorstep, the messenger would have just come in.

Glorfindel was at the door by the time Erestor had managed to stand, frowning as the elf before him bowed. Erestor came up behind him, looping his arms around his waist. Instinctively his eyes narrowed at the elf that had dared disturb this rest and take his Glorfindel from his arms. The someone was one of the border patrol, if Erestor remembered correctly. And of course he remembered correctly - that was part of his job.

"My Lord Erestor," the guardsman bowed to him too. "There is a... Problem?"

Erestor nodded, frowning at him. Could he please just spit out the message, so they could deal with it and head back to bed. It was obviously not an attack; Glorfindel would have been informed of that already.

"Elaborate," Glorfindel was playing the part of the regal lord and guard-captain well. Even with the chief counsellor clinging to him like some form of blanket-shelled limpet.

The guard shifted nervously for a moment, "Lord Elrohir crossed over the Brunien not long ago. He and his companion are both wounded. Lord Elladan is nowhere to be seen; Lord Elrohir states he is hunting orcs in the Trollshaws. Alone."

Erestor grasped Glorfindel a little tighter as his husband swore. There was silence for a few moments, as Erestor's mind raced - all he could think of was Elrond, and what they would tell their poor Lord. Elladan out hunting orcs alone was... Entirely the sort of thing he would do, but the only worse news he could think of to give Elrond was that someone had died. Especially when Elrohir being injured was accounted for.

Glorfindel took control, carefully unwinding Erestor's arms from his waist. "I take it Lord Elrohir is being escorted back?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I will organise a search for Lord Elladan. Immediately. Give Master Erestor your report."

Glorfindel patted Erestor's hand reassuringly, before pushing past the guard and running downstairs. Erestor could only assume he was headed to the barracks to fulfil his duty as the twin's sort-of protector. Which left him to collect information and report to Elrond. The job nobody wanted. 

Without his husband to cling to, Erestor pulled himself to his full height and glowered at the guardsman. Even wrapped in the embroidered quilt, the way the he flinched could only mean he found Erestor terrifying. He took a small pleasure in it; that was the intended effect.

"I could not care less about actions; those will be for the written report that will be upon Lord Glorfindel's desk by noon. Give me the time, exact location and the list of injuries."

The guardsman stood to attention, "They crossed the Brunien at the main ford a little after midnight, whereas the ford guards we met them. Three of our members serve as escort, I came as a messenger, and the rest remained to continue guarding. The Captain expects them to arrive around dawn. Um... Corporal Ningaearion saw to the injuries, sir. He gave me a list for the healers?"

"Have you given it to them already?" Corporal Ningaearion. Combat medic, assigned to one of the guard patrols. Not a healer per say, but he had overseen triage as they fled Eregion; his analysis of the situation was as good as they could hope to receive from a guardsman. Erestor considered it probable that it would be detailed enough for the healers to prepare.

"No, sir. I came to here first."

Erestor untangled one hand from the blanket, and held it out expectantly. It took the guardsman a few moments to work out what to do, but then scrambled to find and deliver the note. He made sure to frown disapprovingly at the disorganisation. 

Once it was in his hand, he was quick to move to his desk, copying it out as he read. His frown twitched as his stomach dropped uncomfortably. Elrohir's injuries appeared to be serious, but manageable - though that circumstances had led to the poison being left so long it would require specialist treatment as well as the antidote was a very bad sign. The companion seemed to be in more immediate danger; burns, infection, malnutrition, gaping abdominal wound with damaged intestines and pancreas, various other more minor wounds. Elrond himself was likely the poor idiot's only hope. Erestor raised an eyebrow at the note that the companion was high-elven. That was rare - rarer still that nobody appeared to be sure who it was - but probably the only reason he was even alive.

At least trying to repair him would keep Elrond occupied until there was news of Elladan. He loved his Lord dearly, as both a friend and an employer, but he was insufferable when worried. He fretted and paced and fretted some more. Elrohir would need to rest, not have his father fuss over him. Which was invariably the other option. To the note he quickly added the verbally given details from the guard - it would be quicker for Elrond to read the information.

Once the note was copied, he thrust the original back towards the guardsman, "take this to the healers. They will make use of you. I shall inform Lord Elrond."

"Sir!"

Erestor was amused to receive a salute from the guardsman. Deciding that it was far too early, and this message far too important not to be taken to Lord Elrond immediately, he forewent dressing and strode towards Elrond's chambers still wrapped in the quilt. Glorfindel really had done an excellent job of the embroidery on it.

Elrond had opened the door before Erestor had finished raising his hand to knock. He was in his night shirt with a loose outer robe thrown over it. His face spoke of utter exhaustion; his foresight had been troubling him of late. "How bad is it, Erestor?"

"Nobody is dead yet, my Lord. It is possible that someone will be soon," Erestor handed him the note. "The message is from watch at the main ford. My Glorfindel has already left."

"I see."

He watched Elrond's face twist into a grimace as he read the note, face more alert. It only took him a moment.

"There is no mention of Elladan?" to anyone who knew him less well, it would have sounded like a polite inquiry. Erestor, however, could hear the panic in his lord's voice.

"According to the guardsman, my Lord Elrohir says my Lord Elladan is continuing their hunt alone," he raised one hand as Elrond went deathly pale and opened his mouth to speak. "My Glorfindel is leading a search party as we speak. He left to do so before the messenger had even completed his message."

It took Elrond a couple of visible breaths to calm himself, "I... See."

"If you will take my advice, my Lord Elrond," Erestor saw the indecision in his Lord's eyes. "I would suggest you prepare the healers for my Lord Elrohir and his companion. His companion will of course need immediate assistance, and my Lord Elrohir in a timely fashion. There is little you can do for my Lord Elladan right now, as much as it pains me to say it. One more set of eyes will not help the search, but a master healer prepared for any eventuality ready to act as soon as they return could absolutely be vital."

Elrond took a deep breath, "you speak as though I do not already know that, my friend."

A small shrug from Erestor was his reply. He knew that his Lord knew, just he also knew that sometimes his Lord had a tendency towards rather... mannish behaviours. By which he of course meant poorly thought through, impulsive, contrary to protocol, stupid, impatient, and heroically absurd behaviours.

"You are right, of course. Whatever would I do without you?"

"Probably have died charging Sauron himself."

Neither of them found the comment particularly amusing.

"Wait there; I will just change into something I can get blood out of, then we will go to the infirmary."

"We, my Lord Elrond?"

"I-" Elrond seemed incapable of forming the words for a response, but the despair in his eyes was enough. Erestor sighed; he had hoped he might at least get some rest, even if worry would not let him sleep. 

"I see. Of course, my Lord Elrond. I am yours to command. Should you ask it of me, I will go beyond the Doors of Night for you. The infirmary is far less taxing."

He almost failed to catch the whispered thank you.

* * *

By the time dawn was approaching, Elrond had thoroughly debated every possibility with the healers either on duty or on call, cleaned the entire infirmary three times and had prepared every potion and poultice he could feasibly fit into the few hours. Erestor, for his part, had sat on a bench just inside the door, being as inconspicuous as possible. He was doing everything in his power to keep himself awake, and his Lord looking  _busy_ as opposed to  _frantic._  The distinction, of course, was narrower than anyone cared to admit.

The elves were just starting to gather to greet the sun - this was going to be an interesting confliction of events - when Elrond decided it was time to wait outside. Two of the younger healers remained in the infirmary, ready to assist as soon as the patients were bought indoors. Elrond and two of the more senior healers - one a master in his own right - were to go outside and begin treatment as soon as possible.

Erestor followed the group of healers, carrying Elrond's bag of supplies. In the courtyard they were met by a handful of servants, ready with litters to transport the patients. Placing the bag somewhere obvious, he ignored the discussions of the two groups to fend the curious and the truly dedicated to greeting the sun away; gawping elves around the healers was just asking for trouble. Especially when they had gathered on the path. He allowed a pair of stable hands to stay - someone would after all need to tend to the horses - but otherwise the people of Imladris were banished from the immediate area. Even the most wilful were chased away with an attempt to pass them buckets, the most curious with a frowning glare. 

It was a little after dawn that the patrol arrived. Elrohir was still riding with his companion over his horse, and Erestor recognised the golden glow of healing magic passing between them. He frowned; nobody that exhausted should be using such skills. But then, maybe, there was considered to not be another option - it would be just like Elrohir, any member of the family really, to overlook their own safety to try help another.

It was with a small start that his eyes were drawn to the companion. Even from the distance he recognised Maglor - from the way he froze, Elrond had too. The broken, more dead than alive elf clutched in Elrohir's grasp was the Lord of his parents, the first to whom he had sworn. He made a quick glance around the courtyard, checking who was about. It was thankfully unlikely that anyone else had recognised the Fëanorian, but measures would need to be taken. Measures undoubtedly his responsibility.

Up upon the horse Elrohir was also scanning the gathered elves, face frantic. Erestor tried to be reassuring when his eyes were met, but that was not whom he was looking for. Elrond was already moving towards the horses, almost in a trance, and Erestor followed a few steps behind.

"Dad!" Elrohir's voice broke into tears as he laid eyes on his father. "Daddy..."

"I am here now, my child; you are safe. I shall take your friend from you, and Erestor will help you down. You have done well. So very well," Elrond soothed as he reached for the elf cradled in Elrohir's arms. As soon as he had taken him, Erestor reached up and wrapped his arms around Elrohir's waist. Carefully he helped him down. Elrohir clung to his shoulders, shivering. Erestor clung back, carrying him over to the waiting litter and healer. It had been many years since carrying one of the twins had been easy, but he did it without complaint. As soon as he was seated, the healer snatched the bound orc blade form his side, sending it off with a servant as he began measuring out some concoction for Elrohir to drink. For all he was half asleep, Elrohir also seemed terrified and inconsolably upset.

"Your father will help your friend, my Little Lordling," Erestor promised, hoping the ancient pet name might offer some comfort. "And Master Penion here will help you. My Glorfindel is fetching your brother as we speak. Everything will be well, just as your father promised."

Elrohir nodded, rapidly drifting towards sleep as he seemed to comprehend he was home. Satisfied that the healer could manage, Erestor turned to check on Elrond and Maglor. Elrond was singing flesh back together, as the other healer attempted to keep the wound clean as he did so. The work was both fascinating and revolting to watch them work - flesh slowly knitting back together between Elrond's glowing hands. Elrond's own face was carefully blank as he proceeded with the slow and delicate task of knitting organs and muscle back together.

Erestor's own emotions on the situation were mixed. Seeing his Prince like this was near unbearable, even after the betrayal and disappearance. But his reappearance bought numerous difficulties into the peaceful Imladris. A peace Erestor was partially responsible for maintaining. Firstly, there was the security risk - one Glorfindel would need informing of if he were not already aware - then the potential political repercussions with the other elven realms - Galadriel would have a field day, not to mention Thranduil - and the emotional strain it would put on the already highly distressed Elrond.

But before he could see to any of that, as chief advisor to the house, he needed to ensure everything did not implode whilst his Lord was working. First was a quick word to the servants waiting to carry the stretcher, advising them to take the patient to a side room rather than the main ward. Then to the barracks, searching out a pair of guards who could be trusted to both protect a Son of Fëanor from others should they decide upon assassination, and protect the citizens from a Son of Fëanor if he were inclined to violence. He did not want to believe that either were a possibility, but he would be a fool not to consider it. Next, dress in something more respectable and intimidating than a night robe and quilt. However warm the quilt was.

The last job was to inform the leaders of each of the factions, that they might disseminate the information appropriately. Each required its own tact - those who had once been loyal to Sons of Fëanor needed reminding that they were now sworn to Elrond, and that Maglor was exceptionally unwell and unable to take command right now; those who had suffered at the hands of the Sons of Fëanor needed promises that they would be protected from him, would not be forced to interact, but reminded that this was a place of rest and healing for  _all_  who requested it, regardless of what they had done, and the halls filled with other kinslayers too; Celebrimbor's former followers were the most complicated, for though they were once bound to the House of Fëanor how much they had renounced varied wildly. The other factions, those who had no specific connection to Maglor, were simply informed of his presence and asked to direct security concerns to Glorfindel and others to Erestor. No need to bother Elrond just yet. The inevitable arguments that followed took him nearly until lunch - yes, he was under guard, yes, he had guards, yes, the healers could be trusted, no, he was not going to murder everyone in their sleep, no, he was not certain how long he would be staying, yes, your safety was assured, no, this was not negotiable.

For all the factions did not exist and definitely did not have leaders, it was impressive how well contacting the leaders of the factions worked for spreading messages.

As the bell for the midday meal sounded, Erestor found himself unwilling to head to the dining hall. Instead his feet led him back to the infirmary. He stopped by Maglor's side-room first, nodding to the guards as he let himself in. Maglor was wrapped in bandages, unconscious and unnervingly pale, whilst Penion sat nearby. The healer was filling in paperwork, glancing at his patient every couple of lines. After a short while, he looked up.

"May I help you, counsellor?"

"I was looking for my Lord Elrond?" that was not quite true, but certainly the expected response.

"Lord Elrond left around an hour ago. He said he would go rest, but I expect he went to check on Lord Elrohir."

"My thanks," Erestor paused. "How is the patient?"

"We have done what we can for his injuries. His body needs to rest before we can continue, though he needs constant observation due to the severity and the infection."

Erestor gave a grave nod, "thank you."

Penion nodded, "if that is all, counsellor?"

"That is all," Erestor recognised a dismissal when he heard one. He was about to search out Elrond, when he heard a commotion from the courtyard. With a sigh, he swept outside.

He was greeted by the sight of Glorfindel escorting Elladan towards the house. Elladan was silent, but evidently in a foul mood. Squinting, Erestor identified the fear behind the anger.

"Good morning, my Lords," Erestor gave a short bow. "I was about to make a visit to my Lord Elrohir. Would you care to accompany me?"

Elladan's posture flipped from furious to desperate as he ran towards the counsellor, "Erestor! Is he-?"

"He was conscious when he arrived, and his injuries were nothing Imladris had not seen before. Though it is likely he will be stuck with healers for some time yet, he will be well. My Lord."

Elladan's smile was small, but relieved, "can I see him?"

Glorfindel patted his shoulder, "I believe Erestor just invited us to do so."

Evidently Elladan was just as tired as he looked, but he nodded anyway.

Erestor was not sure he should be taking them to the Halls of Healing quite so covered in mud and horse, but none of the healers stopped them. The room in which Elrohir had been placed was towards the back. From outside, he could hear the light conversation of Elrond and his son. With barely a moment's pause, he knocked twice on the door.

"Come in!" Elrond sounded utterly exhausted, but that was to be expected. If Erestor was correct, he had likely spent near everything healing and then not rested.

Regardless, he pushed open the door, and stepped inside with a short bow. Elladan pushed past him a moment later. Upon seeing his other son, Elrond immediately stood up and strode over. Elladan seemed to hesitate a moment, but was quickly swept into a tight hug. It lasted for a few moments before Elladan was released.

"You foolish child," Elrond's voice was choked as his attempted to scold his son. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I promise; I am well."

Elrohir was sat propped up by pillows, watching carefully. There was almost a glare in his expression. Elladan moved to sit on the bed beside him, taking his hands in his own. It was only after a long pause that Elrohir nodded, permitting a hug from his brother. Erestor was distracted from watching the twins further by Elrond sweeping both he and Glorfindel into another hug. Erestor could feel him shaking very slightly, but if from relief, exhaustion or stress he could not tell.

"Thank you, my friends," he whispered. 

"It is no trouble," Glorfindel promised, though the following yawn contradicted him.

Erestor gently hugged back, one arm for his lord and one for his husband. When it started to get awkward, he cleared his throat, "would you like me to request some breakfast bought here? I believe there are matters we should discuss urgently."

Elrond nodded, moving away. His smile was now a light frown, "of course. Glorfindel, we will require you as well."

It only took a moment for Erestor to slip out and order a servant to bring lunch for the five of them. With Elrond taking the chair beside Elrohir and Elladan sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, Erestor and Glorfindel were left to perch on the windowsill. It did not take long for a pair of maids to appear with trays. Glorfindel took the trays, thanking them as he sent them away. Erestor took the one with three bowls from him to the bed, whilst he closed the door.

Once everyone was comfortably arranged with their food, they began to discuss Elladan and Elrohir's journey. Erestor noted how close Elrond sat to the pair, how he shifted as they described finding Maglor, how he twitched as they described how Elrohir had nearly been killed outright by the orc. It was not long after that Elrond began his gentle speech.

"My sons," he began, emotion drained from both voice and expression. "You are exceedingly precious to me. I am neither angry nor disappointed with you, and I understand what you have done. For now, I shall just be thankful you have both returned to me alive - and for you bringing my father to me. Once Elrohir has recovered from his injuries, and the poison is completely gone from his system, the two of you are to resume training with the healers as well as Glorfindel. If you feel they are being unreasonable, you may of course appeal to myself or Erestor. I will also be speaking to each of you individually, once I am less needed here. I expect it will not be for a few days. If you leave before then, I will speak to you on your return."

"Yes, father," the twins spoke as one in the matter, Elladan grumbling slightly more.

With a sigh, Elrond gathered both of his sons into his arms, careful of Elrohir's injuries, pressing them close. This time, Elrond's voice was thick with both fear and love, "I love you so, so much. And I am so glad you made it home. But please... I promise you I will not stop you from leaving, and I will be here to put you back together whenever you return, but please promise me you will look out for each other."

"Dad, we already do," Elrohir muttered.

"I know," Elrond squeezed them a little tighter. "I know. You did the right thing, I cannot fault you for splitting up, but it terrified me to see one of you return alone."

"We're here now. Together," Elladan nuzzled his face against his father's neck.

"Forgive your silly old father," Elrond whispered. "Even if not, I love you. I love you and your sister more than anything."

Watching the three of them talk, Glorfindel shifted closer to Erestor, making use of his height advantage to lean his head against Erestor's. Erestor moved the blonde locks out from his face, then gently placed one arm across Glorfindel's back. It had already been a long morning, and they still had to attend to their duties this afternoon.

The room stretched into silence. Eventually, almost unwillingly, Elrond let his sons go. Erestor could, of course, see a thousand faults with the twins deciding to split up, but also knew it was exactly the action Elrond and Elros would have taken in similar circumstances. To the terror of many. Each person in the room was left to their own thoughts for a while. The intention had been to have a discussion, but nobody was quite sure how to approach the topic. Eventually, it was Glorfindel who broke the silence.

"So, I believe the question is: what are we going to do about the kinslaying prince currently in our infirmary?"

And, well, wasn't that the question?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random OCs are random OCs to fill minor positions. If they come up again its just so I don't need to name more of them.
> 
> I think I am happier with this one. Which is nice. 
> 
> This was very nearly done, but then I decided I wanted to change the PoV to Erestor and have Elrond next chapter instead, where I needed to explain the process of elf-magic healing. Also Glorfindel really, really wanted the PoV this chapter but, well, no. I may write what he was up to in a oneshot somewhere, but we'll find out.
> 
> Next chapter will contain fluff, emotions and tea.


	4. Elrond: Going Through Motions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is just trying to do their best. Eventually it might even be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is not what I intended to write. In my defense, I ... I can't actually defend myself.

Nobody was certain how to respond to Glorfindel's question. Not at first, anyway. Elrond knew what answer he wanted to give, but he could not quite verbalise it - Maglor chose not to be among elves. He rejected them. And even if not, there were the people to consider... He knew he should not hesitate, yet did so anyway.

"He saved Elrohir. And he is family. You do not just leave family to die," Elladan looked to be on the verge of snapping. Elrohir's eyes were sharp, as he shifted slightly closer to Elladan. Elrond was, in the moment those words were said, almost heartbreakingly proud of his sons, trying to protect someone they barely knew from one of their closest companions. Even if it was almost unnecessary. His mind started drifting again, wondering what might happen if- He placed a hand on Elrohir's shoulder.

"We are not denying anyone shelter or medical treatment," He should probably consider what they needed to do. Except to work that out, he needed to know what had already been done. "Erestor? What measures have you already taken?"

Erestor's voice was almost bored as he replied, "I have assigned guards for the interim, though now my Glorfindel has returned it would be more appropriate for him to adjust the rotas."

Elrond watched the couple exchange a glance. Glorfindel nodded, frowning uncharacteristically. Guards were... Probably necessary; however much Elrond wished that his people and his father would just get along, he knew better than to believe it was possible. He could not trust his people not to seek revenge - could not quite trust his father, either. Everything had been over, and they had won, and all was well... And still he had killed the guards. Still he had continued the blood and hatred and needless violence. He didn't... Elrond couldn't quite comprehend why it had happened, bar the Oath. That awful, terrible Oath; the people's concerns were perfectly reasonable. There was no way of telling if it would be a problem again.

Erestor then continued, drawing Elrond's attention back to the room, "I have informed the relevant parties within Imladris, and have been assured that, so long as he is kept away from the population and under guard, there will not be trouble for at least the next eight hours. The other realms have not been informed, though I have begun to draft missives. There is a report in your office, and the drafts will be made available for your examination once they are complete."

"Thank you. Glorfindel, I am sure you have feelings about this?" He would make sure to read the reports as soon as he was able to.

Hopefully... Hopefully Glorfindel would be willing to help. It was unlikely that he wouldn't, but as his silence stretched on further and further it seemed more likely. Seconds turned to minutes and the tension in the room twitched as Glorfindel's frown deepened.

Finally, Glorfindel spoke. "This is important to you both, and you are both important to me. I will do whatever you need me to."

"My dearest Glorfindel," Erestor's voice rolled in mild exasperation. "Our Lord Elrond asked for your feelings about this, not if you were willing."

"What do you want me to say?" Glorfindel seemed almost resigned. "My Lord and my husband have decided that we will provide refuge to a murderer - of elves none the less - knowingly destabilising the fragile peace we have and endangering our relationship with all the elven realms. I will not ask you to give him up, my Lord, and I will follow you to the death. But I have concerns about the safety of every single elf in Imladris."

Elrond nodded to Glorfindel; his concerns were shared, the reason he hesitated. Beside him, Elrohir had fallen asleep, and Elladan was curled protectively beside him - half way there himself. He gently stroked first Elrohir then Elladan's hair, reassuring himself they were near and also offering a modicum of comfort.

"Do we have the resources to put measures in place?" he really hoped so; Elrond could not bear the idea of choosing between his responsibility to his people and his family. If only because he wanted to choose his family, but knew that it would be his people that came first. They always had and did - was that not the duty of a Lord?

"Yes and no," was Glorfindel's initial, unhelpful response. After a moment's consideration he continued. "Guarding him, in as many senses of the word as you wish to use, will be possible. No matter how skilled, one injured elf is still one injured elf. It will take some balancing of the rota, but that can be done."

"But?" 

"Old grievances will remerge, and some will be violent. Others will require you personally to mediate; the situation is far too delicate to be delegated."

Before anyone had a chance to reply, one of the servants slipped in through the door. She gathered up their bowls and slipped out again. Though as inconspicuous as possible, her interruption broke the conversation from what was inevitably going to be more circles - nobody was willing to send Maglor away, especially not injured, and doing so would only cause more problems, but having him in Imladris was a serious security risk. Elrond had constructed the rules and documents in the hopes that someday he would be able to bring his foster-father home, but there was not exactly a protocol for what happened if he did show up; he had believed Maglor coming to him was nothing more than a fantasy, one he had idly allowed himself.

Well, there was a protocol, but that protocol relied on him being conscious and able to speak for himself. Now there needed to be an interim protocol until he was well enough to start charming the populace.

"How long will he be staying?" was Glorfindel's new conversation starter. That did seem to be rather his role in this meeting; Elrond could only imagine that Erestor was also thrown slightly off centre by recent events. Further than Glorfindel, who had no personal investment in them, at least. Looking up, Elrond found Erestor's eyes - they were both unrelenting and pleading.

"I will not force him to stay, but I will offer it," Elrond spoke slowly - not because he was uncertain of offering, but because he was uncertain if he could let Maglor go. "Assuming he survives long enough for it to matter."

"That is in question and yet you are here?" Glorfindel seemed genuinely surprised.

Elrond ran a hand through his hair, "there is nothing I can do that nobody else can, at least until I have rested. It is..." his face pale, he shook his head. Memories of Maglor and his injuries assaulted his mind, making him sick to the very core. "I cannot stand sitting there. My intention had been to just check on Elrohir before seeing to the needs of the city."

He saw Glorfindel and Erestor exchange a look.

"My Lord Elrond, go rest. I can manage the city for a few more hours." Erestor frowned.

"You have been up longer than me," he responded. "I can manage."

"You require more rest than us and have been using your energy in a much more literal way than us. Go take a nap, my Lord. Just an hour or so." Erestor's expression was sharp enough to slice a rock open.

"And if you do not, I will carry you to your room," Glorfindel relaxed, grinning and teasing. Still, Elrond did not doubt that Glorfindel would at least try.

"And if you try to fight him, I will drug you."

Elrond raised his hands in mock surrender, "if you insist, my friends."

"We insist," the couple spoke as one.

"Now say goodnight to the children, then we'll escort you to bed." Glorfindel finished.

He seemed to be having far, far too much fun with this, and the change of mood was confusing Elrond. Still, he pressed a short kiss to the forehead of each of his sons in turn, then retreated towards his rooms. Erestor silently followed him, making sure he did not slip off to his office or similar, whilst Glorfindel took his leave to change and study guard rotations.

Elrond was more surprised to see Erestor follow him into his room. When he had questioned it, Erestor had merely offered to take his still blood-soaked robes to the laundry. It was obvious that Erestor was just making sure that he did not immediately escape, but Elrond was too tired to do more than humour him. 

Once he was changed into clean robes and had curled up on his bed, Erestor had lingered for a few moments. It looked like he wished to say something, but instead he had slipped out, blood-soaked robes in hand. With that, Elrond curled up on his duvet, and tried to rest

* * *

He did not rest well; the few hours he spent were plagued with images of blood and pain, of every injury his family had ever sustained, and a number they had not. It was almost a relief when Glorfindel sheepishly appeared at his door with a problem he and Erestor could not solve alone - one of the Doriathrin survivors was brawling with one of the Fëanorian loyalists. The argument was, nominally, over a disagreement about the price of some eggs, though of course the problems went deeper. Elrond was glad for the distraction, taking more time over the situation than it would usually be granted.

Running Imladris was much less draining than the rest of life; he quickly burrowed into his paperwork.

He saw the concern in Erestor and Glorfindel's eyes as he made his way to dinner, but took the 'sensible' option of ignoring it. If there was something truly the matter, surely they would mention it. The Hall was tense as they ate, but the food was good. Nobody troubled him as he ate, but it was obvious from the chatter that news of Maglor's presence had spread to near everyone. 

Once the meal was over, he slipped from the careful watch of his friends to the healing rooms. First to check on Elrohir - he found Elladan still there, the two of them eating their own dinners and entertaining one another with some bizarre game. Elrohir noticed and acknowledged him, but Elrond slipped away before Elladan did; knowing they were well, there was no need to further disturb the boys. They had surely scared themselves enough to be careful at least for a few days.

Almost absent-mindedly, he made his way back to the room assigned to Maglor. His stomach twisted at the idea of what he knew to be inside, but still he smiled his way past the guards; he had rested enough he could try healing again, and with Maglor's condition he could not stand to wait. And, well, he wanted to see his father. Even if he were unconscious, that was a completely reasonable desire. To check that he actually was properly real, not a delusion of stress or sleep deprivation. To check that, for everyone that had left him, someone had come back.

Maglor looked no better than that morning, but no worse either - at least, not from the distance of the door. His black hair had been cut short, too matted to be saved, and that just contributed to how unwell he looked. A healer was sat in a chair, keeping both eyes trained on the patient. Or at least, she had been doing so; upon hearing the door open, she looked up.

"Go get some rest, Hanbes. I can watch him until the next shift."

The other healer looked about to argue, but upon glancing at Elrond's face relented, "thank you, my Lord."

Elrond stepped aside to let him escape the room, before moving to take the chair. Everything smelt of a headache-inducing mixture of athelas and the sticky sweetness of infection. Maglor lay deathly still beneath the sheets, eyes closed as his body desperately tried - and failed - to repair itself. The only sign of life was his now steadied breathing. Looking at him... It was hard not to remember the small hours of the morning. The freezing terror of knowing only one son had returned, and knowing he was injured. The joy at realising his son carried his father quickly morphing into desperation as he frantically tried to knit flesh back together before that father died beneath his hands. (It would not have been the first time.) Then the hours upon hours of working to try and stabilise him - cleaning wounds and feeding antibiotics and stitching the last little bit of the stomach wound, attempting sung healing on his burns only to have it rejected by the wounds themselves.

Habitually he cleaned and rewrapped Maglor's wounds, gentle as could be even as his mind was consumed with images of blood and pain and fear. As he worked he sang healing rhymes, trying to encourage the flesh to fix itself. A soft glow surrounded his hands as he examined the most serious of the injuries. The abdominal wound, the focus of most of the morning's work, was holding together well. The quickly repaired flesh was delicate, still likely to tear at the slightest provocation, but slowly strengthening - as were the injured organs beneath. 

He took a little time to wrestle with the infection once more. It was too progressed for him to simply be able to dismiss it, and Maglor's body too weak to fight it even with what strength Elrond could lend, so the process mostly consisted of shielding healthy flesh and vital organs from its reach, whilst dislodging it where he could and feeding him what concoctions were appropriate. He thought he felt a loosening of its grip since yesterday, but could not be certain. The burns themselves showed no change at all and remained inert to his ministrations. Still, he had tried again - at twice, it was probably not a fluke.

He needed to research hallowing burns - he could not believe the Valar would be so cruel as to make the wounds truly impossible to heal. They did not quite still look like fresh injuries, if you ignored the infection in them, but rather more like those a couple of days old. It could be possible that they did heal over time, just exceptionally slowly. Maybe it was not something physical but emotional that would see them healed - the Ainur often did not find a distinction between them, after all. Or maybe they could be helped with a carefully constructed song and a specific combination of herbs. Something - surely there would be something. Melkor himself had worn the damn gems for years and his head had not burnt through. And whilst an elf was less resilient to damage, he would have thought that the difference was not that extreme.

He lightly brushed his fingers along Maglor's arm, careful to avoid injuries. It was not quite time to feed him either food or potions, so there was little Elrond could do now but wait. So, he focused intently on his patient. Watched for every movement or lack thereof. Some might call it dedication, and certainly it would alert him to any change, though his reasons were far less selfless; if Elrond allowed but a flicker of attention, he would surely think.

And he wasn't sure he could cope with the thoughts that would surely come.

It was this attention that alerted him to the fact Maglor was stirring - far, far too early. The concoctions should have kept him asleep for a while longer, and his body was far too exhausted for wakefulness; it barely had the energy to deal with grazes, let alone the infection or actual injuries. But short of risking doing further damage to either his head or organs, there was no way for Elrond to prevent the waking.

He felt almost like he should run, get another healer to do this - Maglor had obviously abandoned him for a  _reason_ , and surely would have found him if the reason were not still in effect. He would not want to see him still. Elrond tried to prepare himself for inevitable anger or disappointment - they had parted on poor terms. Just as he had parted with Elros all those millennia ago.

"Elros?" the voice was barely a whisper, barely intelligible. But that was definitely what it said.

Elrond looked up to see those familiar, terrible grey eyes looking at him, half-lidded, uncertain, distrusting, fevered... confused. Everything froze for a long moment, then suddenly he was in control of his own body again.

"Elrond, atto. I am Elrond," he whispered back.

Maglor's expression was both confused and annoyed, like something he was trying to remember was just out of reach. Elrond supposed he probably was, or at least the functional part of his brain was - on so many drugs and quite so ill, it was impossible he could be thinking properly.

"Crying?" Maglor's voice was, if anything, getting quieter. But was so, so soft. Despite everything.

Elrond lifted a hand to his face, finding it to come away wet. He hadn't even... 

"Shh, little star. Shh." Maglor moved incredibly slowly, but it was still a surprise when a bandaged, mutilated hand brushed against him.

Elrond broke into sobs. He pressed his face into the pillow beside his father's head. After a few moments, Maglor managed to turn his head enough to press an approximation of a kiss just below Elrond's ear. Probably the only place he could reach.

How could... Elrond could not understand how his ancient and broken and gravely wounded foster-father was trying to comfort him. He could feel the other's fëa was weak, fading and tethered mostly by Elrond's own callings. Surely it should have been the other way around; he was not the one injured and starved and ill. But still, he was selfish and greedy and  _weak_ and took the comfort. Took it from one who should be receiving.

How long he cried for he was uncertain of, but he cried for many things. He cried for Elros, for the other half of his very whole who had long ago passed where Elrond could never follow, the last words on their tongues bitter and angry and Elrond had never  _apologised._  (He had always thought they'd have more time. They were twins, no matter what their choices - surely even their choices would not sunder them? And yet they did. Sundered and torn apart for all of time and Elros  _hated_ him for his choice, and believed he hated him for the same - but Elrond could never hate his brother. He just could also never  _understand._ ) He cried for his Celebrían, for the light of his life tortured and broken so deep he could not save her no matter what he tried, only able to fix flesh. (He should have known, after everything, they would be separated too. But he would see her again - he had to believe that. The fact he knew his love was returned, that her love for him nearly made her chose to fade at his side rather than leave him while she sailed... He didn't think separation would hurt again; he was wrong. He could have prevented it, could have saved her sooner, should have tried harder, noticed her absence sooner, should have... could have... would have...) He cried for his parents - all four of them - each torn away by circumstances, no matter how much he loved them. (The one who sailed away in search of a desperate hope and was never allowed to return, the one who flew away with a silmaril around her neck as she abandoned her children to the hands of murderers, the one who could bear to live no longer and threw himself into the abyss rather than face the children who had screamed 'I hate you' to his face, and the one who had walked away rather than see him again for just the same reason. Who was now beside him, whose judgement he must surely soon face. He understood and knew why they had left, but another part of him just wanted their love confirmed.) He cried for Gil-Galad, his beautiful, beloved king, and for Celebrimbor, his kind and gentle cousin, both lost to the same cruel and hated enemy. (Neither deserved to die. He remembered their bodies - one dying beneath his hands as he tried to save him, one long dead and taunting him - but barely their smiles. Just the blood blood  _blood and ashes_ staining the earth. He should have been quicker, should have moved sooner - he had the means to save them both; they'd died for his shortcomings. He didn't deserve them. Not in the slightest.) He cried for Elladan and Elrohir, who knew not how to manage their grief. (He did not either, but when they threw themselves to the orcs... He could not bear the thought of losing them too, could not bear to remember, yet could never forget, the image of every time they stumbled home more dead than alive and he had to wonder 'is this when I lose them too'.) He cried for Arwen, far away from him and weeping for her mother. (Away with her grandmother, far, far from his reach. His beautiful, wonderful daughter; he did not have a favourite child, but of course she was his.) He cried for a thousand other things too, and the blurred area of weeping of everything and nothing and not really being sure why you did.

But more than anything, he cried for fear of being left behind again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 550+ word paragraph is gross. I would have split it, but I just couldn't work out where and wanted to keep all of it.
> 
> First section is kinda meh. Everything feels slightly wonky about it. But its also 4:30pm on my birthday and I wanted to publish the second half as a present for myself, so I guess the wonky security meeting over napping orc-hunting twins is just a thing now.


	5. Maglor: Those we love are dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor is not sure what is going on, but it is probably bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings abound. This is Maglor's PoV, and his thought processes cannot be considered within the borders of healthy. There are also brief references to Maedhros' suicide, and longer references to unreality and extensive ones to delusional thinking. And not the happy sort of delusions. More like the 'I have murdered my children' sort of delusions.
> 
> Please be careful. The only plot relevant point will be commented on later in another PoV, if you feel the need to skip. Mostly this chapter is just heavy emotional work.

Elrond was crying, and it was his fault. That was about all Maglor could manage to understand about the situation. Everything else was viewed through a couple of thousand layers of thick, dark fog. Some part of his mind realised he was in pain - agony, really - and unfamiliar surroundings, but neither of these facts seemed to be comprehensible.

Why was he alone with Elrond? He couldn't remember what exactly, but he was certain he had done something horrific and unforgivable to him. Something that meant Elrond should never want to see him again. Even after all the other reasons. There were definitely reasons - he could remember that. Even if the specifics were... Think, what were the specifics? Someone in white, a river of blood and corpses, two screaming children, a shining gem and the sea.

And now he'd hurt Elrond again, mistaking him for his twin.

Where was Elros? And where was his brother? Which brother? Whose brother? Any brother. No, wait, the brothers were fire and blood and screaming, just like their beautiful, beautiful hair. Elder brothers, little brothers... He thinks Elros is dead too, now, but he can't remember why. But why else would Elrond be crying? And didn't Maglor kill everything he loved? And he had loved Elros. So obviously he had killed Elros. 

His heart broke a little further.

Elrond should leave, go away before he died too. But Elrond was crying, and nobody else was there. Sending him away was the only bearable thing to do, was it not? The only way he wouldn't have to bury another loved one.

He had not had to bury Maedhros, he knew that. He didn't remember what had happened, but knew he had not had a corpse. Maybe he did not actually die? No, that was ridiculous. Something about stone and fire? He certainly remembered crying about it. He had done a lot of crying. He was not sure he still remembered how. Elrond was crying.

Yes, make Elrond leave! It was not safe. He would hurt him. Hurt him just like everyone else...

Or maybe this Elrond was not really here, just like all the other Elronds and Elroses and brothers and fathers and cousins. Statistically it was probable. 

And if he was not really here, and he probably was not, what harm was there in offering comfort? He had already offered some, an instinctual need to make sure the Peredhel twins were well and safe and  _happy._ Surely if they were just visions, there was no harm in trying to be a better person? To losing himself in the fantasy? It was not as though the Valar could desire to punish him more than they already did. Maybe the visions were from Nienna? They said little pity would cross the mountains, but little was not none and maybe the lady of mercy pitied him once or twice... Or maybe they were from someone else, little glimpses of hope and love only to be ripped away again. Offer hope and take it as a way to break him down. Or maybe it was a test?

The purpose of the vision did not matter. Only one thing mattered: make this not-Elrond stop crying. Make him happy and make him smile. Look after Elrond, even if he was a fake. An imagining of his tortured mind.

Trying to comfort Elrond felt more natural than anything else, though still ill-fitting. He couldn't see the hand he pressed on Elrond's, but he was sure it was coated it blood. The lips he kissed him with, the gentle fatherly comforts, were surely thick with lies and manipulations. The words he spoke empty, pointless, unheard by any.

He vaguely remembered seeing twins, twins who he had never seen before, offering to take him home. But surely that was imagination too? They had been in danger, he had put a stop to it. But it had left him hurt. More hurt. Different hurt? No, the old hurt still there. It had been serious. Still was, if the pain made any sense. Were those twins safe? Well, he had imagined them. So probably. Probably not; he kept forgetting. Forgotten visions were not safe.

Or maybe he was dead and Elrond was dead and Elrond was crying because that is what you did in Mandos, and his brothers were not here because they were not allowed to see each other, but Elrond had come because Elrond was too good for his own good.

That seemed likely. Of course, Elrond would be dead; he had not wanted to love the twins, but love them he had. So obviously they were doomed too.

Eventually Elrond stopped crying. He stayed with his face to the bed for a little, before sighing and repositioning himself. Maglor struggled to stay awake, taking what he could of this awful wonderful hallucination. Soon he would surely be back on the beach, alone. Dying. Something had gone wrong. He also remembered that. He was not sure he cared, he just felt guilt from taking comfort from anything was almost consuming, but at the same time he could not find the energy to care.

"Atto?" Elrond says the word like it is some great, beautiful secret, then continued as though it were still so. "I am very glad you are here with me, and I have missed you."

Maglor knows this cannot be real; Elrond must hate him. That is the way of things, is it not? Elrond had even told him so, and he knew that had been real. Though he did not quite remember it. But he did remember those words: 'I hate you', screamed at his face by both twins in unison. 

The other possibility, that Elrond had lied with those words, had doomed himself by loving Maglor back was a thousand times, no infinitely, worse. 

But what if he loves you back and is not doomed? What if-?

That thought is crushed away in a moment, faster than anything Maglor has thought in an age. It was not, could not be worth the risk. And it was almost... No. Send the thought away.

"Atto? Are you still awake?" Elrond speaks again.

Maglor realised he should answer. Moving was hard, slow. So was speaking. It took a lot of thinking to construct the words he wanted, but eventually he managed it, "I am here, little star."

The words did not quite come out right; something new in Elrond's expression broke. Before Maglor could apologise, Elrond gently touched his face and smiled. The smile is slight and hesitant, but it is there. And not entirely sad. So maybe Maglor was not entirely wrong with his words?

"Are you in pain?"

Maglor considered that question, and ignored the other words. He was in pain, he could tell that much. Horrible, gut churning pain in his hands and his body. Fire clawed up one arm, and settled in the palm of the other. Across his front felt... Something. But it was hard to connect to the pain; it felt almost as if it were a memory of pain, or the idea of pain that someone else was in. Or maybe more that it was pain belonging to a body not his, that he was just borrowing, so it did not quite connect?

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he made a small nod.

Elrond seemed to expect that answer, "I am sorry, atto."

Maglor was not entirely sure what Elrond was apologising for - the pain or the crying or something else entirely - but he made a small noise and hoped it would be taken as acceptance. Forming actual words was too exhausting, but Elrond needed to know he was forgiven for whatever it was. There was nothing Elrond could possibly do that Maglor would not forgive him for. That he was absolutely certain of. If he had sold Maedhros to Melkor he might have struggled, but he was certain both that that was not in Elrond's inclination, and he would have still forgiven Elrond eventually.

It took another little while for Elrond to speak again, "I have some food; will you eat?"

Maglor did not wish to reply in the positive, for all his hunger; his gut seemed to scream in pain at the idea. But, hesitantly, he nodded anyway.

It was quite honestly a surprise when Elrond slipped behind him, ever so carefully raising him into a sort-of seated position. It was even more surprising when the soup he was spooned was real. But, frankly, he was confused enough to just accept it at that point. His concentration was far too busy fighting away sleep, and half-corrupted memories of other times.

Times like when it had been his elder brother doing-

No, do not think of that. Think of nothing but food. Food that was glorious and well made, for once.

When Maglor could eat no more, or thereabouts, Elrond had very carefully laid him back down. He then checked bandages on Maglor's stomach, and, seemingly satisfied, pressed his own kiss to Maglor's forehead.

"You should sleep, atto."

Maglor desperately wanted to pull his son into a hug, but could not quite move his arms enough for his goal. Sleep was about the last thing on his mind. If he slept, this wonderful world might disappear. Or he might have to remember something truly awful (mother crying on a beach as they left, singing Amrod to his death, Maedhros' heart breaking before his eyes, cutting through- no). So just stay awake, comfort this Elrond, hold onto the beautiful hallucination a little longer.

It had never worked before, but he could try.

Elrond moved away, the bowl in hand. Maglor had just enough time to decide whether or not this was a bad thing (it was a good thing, obviously. Elrond should be safely far away) when Elrond returned to the chair.

He should not have done that. If he had had the energy, Maglor would have cried. Sent him away. Something.

But he was already losing the fight against sleep, so did not stop Elrond when he began to speak. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the words for a few moments, before realising that he was reading poetry aloud. Awful, terrible, horrific poetry. Maglor was not certain he had ever heard worse.

Maybe if he slept he would not have to listen to this; he had thought Elrond's taste would have been better. Obviously he needed to read more good poetry...

* * *

The next thing he remembered was being trapped between nightmares and reality. He was in pain - pain like his very flesh was on fire, just like his brother's had been on fire. Just like father had been consumed in. Father - he wanted his father. Or his mother. Or Maitimo. He cried out for them. Why were they not here? Why did they not save him? Why were they letting him burn?

He screamed and screamed and someone held him until he finally calmed. He did not bother to try and identify his comforter, now limp and listless as the screaming drained everything from him.

"I love you, atto. Please believe that."

He did not quite understand the words being said to him as he fell asleep, but they came with a twist in his heart. A painful, painful twist called hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter is shorter because I am moving. But it was finished. Next chapter: we meet our final PoV, Glorfindel and delve a little into politics. Expect that to take longer than I have been updating so far: see the moving house.
> 
> And, yes, Elrond is totally using literally every excuse to call Maglor 'atto' because he can and nobody can stop him.
> 
> Oh! And I'm working on adding chapter titles which include who the PoV is. Because after Glorfindel's it is going to get irregular.


	6. Glorfindel: A Morning In The Life Of Glorfindel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel wakes up, goes to work, does some paperwork and has lunch with his husband. One of these things does not go quite to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. Also I'm not sure what happened in the middle of this, but there we go. Have some mostly filler. No idea when I'll get a chance to update again; couch surfing plus illness flares plus actual viral infections does not combine to doing an awful lot of writing.

Most people considered Glorfindel adversed to paperwork. That, in and of itself, was not strictly true; he took great pleasure in perfecting a guard rota or generating a new filing system for reports, in a way that almost made Erestor proud. What he did not enjoy was actually having to read the reports as they came in. Many of them contained very important information, but even more were extensive pieces of everyday and perfectly normal happenings. There were times he was certain important details would be missed as a direct result of this method, but then such details had in the past proven vital to discover enemy spies and imposters within their ranks. There were so, so many words, and after a while it seemed almost as though they swam about the page. It would become impossible to read, as his vision almost seemed to glitch.

It was a balancing act he had never perfected; the contents reports of Imladris were less strict than those of Gondolin had been, Glorfindel trusting it to his men's discretion to determine what actually needed reporting, which did make the act slightly more tolerable. Very few of his guards were as in depth as Turgon has insisted of the guardians of Gondolin, so usually he could manage it. Maybe a slight headache, but nothing too serious.

Except today the paperwork from the morning shift was instead covered by a very large stack of complaints. Without needing to read them, he knew exactly what they would contain. He eyed the stack for a few moments before sighing. That caught the attention of Avornion, his second, who seemed to spend even his off shifts in the office. Avornion raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the stack.

"Please," Glorfindel sighed the word.

With a swift movement, Avornion removed around half of the stack and placed it on his own desk. A moment later, Glorfindel pulled out five wooden trays, a piece of slate, some chalk and a large packet of multicoloured treasury tags. With a quick hand he drew a small diagram for type of concern against the faction it was from.

"Concerns about the Lord Maglor shanking the good and law abiding elves of Imladris here, concerns about the good and law abiding elves of Imladris shanking Lord Maglor here, concerns about the disruption from people shanking each other here, concerns which are Erestor's problem here, and anything else in this one," Glorfindel gestured to the trays in turn. "Tag according to who they come from, you know the drill. If its a specific concern about a specific person with actual reasoning pass it to me instead of filing it."

"Yes sir!" Avornion gave Glorfindel an exhausted smile before setting to work. 

As Glorfindel made his way through the pile, more quickly than complaints would usually get read but more slowly than he desired, he found nothing of actual substance. Well, no, all of them were the complaints of terrified people - either for their former lord or for their families, or for the possibility of those they cared about taking drastic action due to their own terror. It was unfair to call them lacking in substance, for all were very reasonable concerns. 

There were two places where a fight was likely to break out - well, three if wherever Maglor was at the time were to be included in the list; somewhere very public and full of alcohol, or somewhere very private with few to no witnesses. Short of banning alcohol, which was absolutely guaranteed to cause a riot, or putting the entire settlement under a curfew, there was little Glorfindel could do about the first problem. Extra guards would be assigned with the next lot of rotas, hopefully enough to break up any fights prior to serious consequences. The latter was more of a problem, and partially involved completely rearranging some of his patrols.

It was standard policy to mix elves from different areas when assigning patrols, allowing a sharing of expertise. Also so that there was someone around whom even the most suspicious and distrustful of Imladris' residents would speak to most of the time: he had found people to often be more willing to speak to one of their own. The problem then came that if there was to be an argument whilst out on patrol between two members of differing factions, there would not be enough people to separate them. And, though he did not like to think that his guards would attack one another in cold blood, patrols into the Trollshaws provided the perfect opportunity for calculated murder, framed as an accident. Either way, he wanted to risk the chance of his guards injuring each other. The patrols who had worked together for millenia were unlikely to need reassigning - it was the younger, newer ones who would need protecting from each other whilst tensions were high.

For all the world seemed to have been turned on its head, life would just have to go on. Glorfindel's job was to make sure it did, and Erestor's to smooth over all the kinks.

Once the papers were sorted, Glorfindel drafted out a basic reply to those worried about Maglor's presence getting them killed, getting him killed, or getting someone killed, and assigned a scribe to make copies for all concerned parties. He had a different scribe write out the standard response for when he got complaints in Erestor's field - even before this new mess, it was common for people to attempt to get messages through to Erestor via him. Which was completely inappropriate. The replies simply told them that as these were not matters pertaining to security, they should be resubmitted to Erestor's Office.

Finally, he settled down with the concerns no way related to Maglor's presence, the night's reports, the guard rotas and a cup of ginger tea. Hopefully, he could get these all finished before Erestor dragged him out for lunch.

* * *

Erestor did not drag him out for lunch. Glorfindel was instead alerted to the lunch hour by the changing of the guards. Noting the lack of his beloved shadow, he bade farewell to the other members of the guard and slipped towards the kitchens. It was a simple enough matter to liberate their lunch tray; the cooks were surprised to see it was Glorfindel collecting it, but everyone knew who it was for. The two of them had been taking lunch together since before they had been married, in one or other of their offices. And yet it was still only once or twice a year that Glorfindel arrived to collect it; Erestor was far, far better at keeping to time.

He very quickly became aware of the problem; almost as soon as he reached the floor of councilors' offices, he could hear the sound of high pitched yelling. Not yet the words, but the sounds of it. 

As he approached, it became clearer - as almost expected, someone was expelling their fears over Maglor's presence. The fact he could not hear Erestor was not of concern; his husband was excellent at remaining quiet and composed under pressure. Even through the thick door he would have not expected to hear Erestor's words, and would have expected anyone else's to be distorted. There was a lull in the yelling, likely for Erestor to make his reply.

Glorfindel knocked once, but did not wait for a reply as he pushed open the door.

"... weapons or implements of destruction with explicit permission from both my Lord Elrond and my Lord Glorfindel. I have heard your concern, and I understand your fear." Erestor's voice continued to speak calmly to his petitioner.

"The fuck do you think you are doing?" he had yelled the words before he had even fully processed the scene before him. The tray of lunch clattered to the floor at his feet.

"My Glorfindel, please wait outside until I have finished seeing this consultation," Erestor's face and voice, to an outside observer at least, completely bland and disinterested. Like this was just another day at the office, filing paperwork and seeing to the settlement's supplies. Glorfindel, though, knew Erestor well. Could read the warning in his eyes, and the ever so slight terror behind that. In the eyes, in the way he ever so slightly folded his pursed lips further in, in the almost undetectable shake of the hand on his lap, and the other that rested lightly on the petitioner's wrist.

A wrist that held a knife to his beloved's throat.

That was all Glorfindel really processed before he marched into the room and grabbed the assailant by the scruff of the neck. He pulled him away from his husband, tossing him aside. The knife clattered to the floor and, to his infinite relief, Glorfindel noted that the knife was merely a blunted butter knife. Still, this hellion of an elf had dared hold a knife to his husband's throat. Glorfindel was not inclined to make allowances. He turned towards the assailant, intending to drag him back to the guardhouse.

"Laure?" Erestor's voice was still sharp, as it always was in his office, but Glorfindel could hear the uncertainty in it. Cleverly and well hidden, but there. As he turned to his husband, the assailant bolted.

He could deal with that later. Right now, he needed to check on Erestor. Make sure he was alright, unharmed in any way. And, anyway, Erestor would know exactly who the assailant was, and his opinion should be accounted for in any further action. The danger was over, if it had ever truly been danger, and he needed to calm.

"I am here, Erestor," Glorfindel moved to stand over Erestor, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Erestor bought up his hands to grasp at Glorfindel's arms, leaning forward to burrow his face into his stomach. Glorfindel could almost feel the tension and rigid control drain from Erestor.

"Good," Glorfindel could almost hear Erestor frown.

Glorfindel held Erestor for a few moments, absently wishing he had closed the door; Erestor would not want someone walking past and thinking he was week. But, well, if Erestor was too distressed to think of that, Glorfindel was unwilling to let him go. To take away the comfort the contact bought them both.

"Are you injured?" he asked, once Erestor was no longer suppressing shudders beneath his hands.

"I am unharmed; the knife was blunted."

"Alright. What happened?"

"Eithion decided I needed more convincing of the point that my Lord Maglor was a threat to security. He was not a threat to me. He... He was not a threat to me." Erestor seemed almost to be trying to reassure himself of that. Picking up the hesitation, Glorfindel squeezed reassuringly.

"You are certain?" of that.

Glorfindel could feel Erestor shrug even as he pushed closer in, feel the suppressed shaking begin again. For all his words were calm, and all he tried to suppress it, Erestor was scared. Really, anyone would be. He had simply been performing his nice safe, office job when someone had held a knife to his throat! That the knife would have been incapable of doing any harm, and given it was not from Erestor's room must have been chosen to, was not really something that would affect instinctual fear. It was another few moments before he spoke.

"Quite. He came to me because he trusts me to be able to do something about the situation, just he believes we Noldor only respond to the threat of violence," Erestor twisted himself a little, voice steadying. Only Glorfindel and Elrond would ever have been able to tell the difference, though. "There is no reason to spoil your generous reputation."

"He pursued violent action against a senior member of Lord Elrond's household."

"He threatened violent action against a senior member of our Lord Elrond's household. There is a difference."

"Erestor. Love. He held a knife to your throat. Nobody is going to think I am being more severe in judgement just because it was my husband being threatened - well, they might, but you are second only to Lord Elrond in keeping Imladris functional." If Glorfindel were to be entirely honest with himself, he would absolutely hand out a harsher punishment just because it was Erestor. Glorfindel was not willing to be quite that honest.

"A blunt knife. Not held close enough to bruise, let alone choke me."

Glorfindel had not considered choking via knife a possibility. It took him a moment to get the horrible images it brought up under control, "give me the context, I will question him for his, and only once I have both will I make a final decision on what to do about this."

Erestor leant away from Glorfindel's arms; he let him go. "Master Eithion. He is one of the preservation specialists, his address is on the written complaint he bought with him - top of the pile, I believe. His taste in clothing has, to many's surprise, actually improved over time."

Erestor almost reluctantly moved over to his desk, shrugging off the last of Glorfindel's hold. From it, he took some papers. Checked through them a few times, before turning and making eye contact with Glorfindel, "he was once tutor to and guardian of Dior's children. When Doriath was destroyed, he was separated from all of them. He ended up in the East, not the South."

Glorfindel sighed, knowing exactly what Erestor was implying. Despite that, he still could not help putting himself in Eithion's position for a few moments, having to imagine what he would do if Elrond decided to heal and keep someone responsible for Gondolin's fall. Salgant maybe - Maeglin would be Maedhros in this analogy, he assumed. Or maybe Curufin. Certainly, his actions would be more immediate and more violent than holding a butter knife to a counselor's throat.

Probably the difference between a scholar and a warrior.

"I will have Avornion investigate and deal with the matter. I am evidently too emotionally invested to consider fairly," that was probably what Erestor had been aiming for; both of them were far too invested in the situation, and Elrond would be too. It was the fairest way.

Erestor nodded slowly. Glorfindel could still something nervous in his posture. His eyes turned to examine the red soup soaking slowly into the cream carpet, "... I suppose this gives me an appropriate excuse to redecorate with something less tasteless."

"You mean something black," Glorfindel settled into slight teasing. Trying to put some normality into the situation.

"Oh, of course," Erestor waved a hand in dismissal. "We should surprise our Lord Elrond with our presence at the public lunch table."

"Are you sure you are up for the company?"

Erestor narrowed his glare to Glorfindel. 

"Alright, stupid question." Erestor was, Glorfindel reasoned, perfectly capable of just ordering more soup to his offices with he was not up for the company. And entirely willing to do so.

As the two made their way downstairs, Glorfindel accosted a maid to clean up the spilt soup as best as she could manage - at least enough to leave the office usable until such time as a new carpet could be arranged - and sent a quick memo to Avornion to meet him in the dining hall. He was also intensely aware of Erestor studying him. Just as he was watching Erestor more than usual; no harm had come of it, bar Erestor's carpet, but that was not to say it would not have an effect.

* * *

Elrond was indeed surprised to see them at lunch in the hall. Erestor had dismissed the question in his eyes with a quick technically accurate excuse about Glorfindel dropping their soup. If anything, that seemed to make Elrond more concerned - his eyes kept flickering to the pair of them as they sat in their seats at the high table, and he kept going to say something then thinking better of it.

"It is nothing urgent, and nobody was hurt," Glorfindel assured his Lord. "You will be receiving an initial briefing in the next lot of reports, and we shall all discuss it this evening. Though Avornion will be meeting me for an update soon. Working lunch, I am afraid."

"I see..." Elrond hesitated. Glorfindel smiled reassuringly, hoping it would prompt his Lord into speaking his mind. "It is about my father, is it not?"

"Yes," Erestor poked at his lunch with a spoon. "There have been a number of concerns raised, though all can be summarized as people afraid someone else will start stabbing someone they care about. I have reassured them that he will not be permitted into the residential parts of town unaccompanied, will be kept under guard in both senses of the word, and will not be allowed close to weaponry without your explicit consent."

Elrond made a look at the comment about the residential areas that Glorfindel took a moment to identify. He laughed, "Elrond, if we had not noticed the extra guest room in the family quarters which has only once been used in all my years here by now, we were not going to do so."

Elrond's expression turned embarrassed, causing an eye roll from Erestor. "My Lord Elrond, if you need to be embarrassed, I will make certain to inform you. Eat up; you are rather too pale. Also, not eating or sleeping properly and being scolded for it requires you to be embarrassed."

Glorfindel twitched; he and Erestor had agreed to not explicitly bring up just quite how fragile their Lord looked - the robes beginning to sit poorly, the dark circles, pale face, distant expression and all consuming exhaustion. It had been so since Celebrian did not make it home from Lothlorien, growing steadily worse. 

That Elrond laughed and made a joking complaint about Erestor being an overbearing hen was progress Glorfindel had not expected, but was grateful for. 

He thought a hen was a rather good analogy for Erestor, really. Cute, pretty, kinda fluffy underneath the waterproofing, enjoyed cuddling up with his loved ones and would absolutely not hesitate to tear a man to shreds with his bear hands. Well, no, Erestor would not if doing so threatened his family more than the theoretical man did, which was a slight difference from a hen, but it was close enough. 

His thoughts about his husband and hens, and if that made him a cockerel (he did not often intend to be showy, but the hair did make it an effective way of getting things done) or another hen (he... would probably have more difficulty with that. He was, for a start, far less likely to eat someone's organs for trespassing than a hen. Or Erestor), by his second's arrival. They slipped off to a side room; Glorfindel quickly brief him of the situation, promised a written statement after the afternoon training sessions, and pressed that Erestor did not wish for a fuss. It only took a few moments, but by the time he returned Elrond was back to fidgeting and looking as though he was about to call out their statement of 'nothing urgent'.

"So, my Lord," Glorfindel sat heavily back on his chair and casually leant over for the salt. "How are the twins? And your Maglor?"

He hoped his genuine concern for their wellbeing did transmit properly; he also saw Erestor perk up and listen slightly more closely.

"The twins will be fine; they should be joining us for dinner, so long as Elrohir is feeling up to it. I... I do not want to push them. I think they scared themselves far more than they yet realise," Elrond paused for a moment. "Atto is... He is still gravely ill, though the fever broke last night. It is my hope that, with that under control, his body might be able to begin recovery rather than continue to destroy itself."

It would not have taken Elrond's slightly uncomfortable twisting for Glorfindel to relate that sentence and the fact Elrond had been too exhausted to make any of his morning commitments, but it certainly made it even more obvious. He and Erestor shared a look - they could only hope that Elrond finally managing to break through Maglor's fever left him more stable. Curtailing Elrond's tendency towards ignoring his own health was difficult at the best of times, let alone when Imladris was on a knife edge and his family were injured.

"I am glad to hear it. Maybe you will be able to rest a little easier now," Erestor's voice was as bland as the lettuce leaf he was mutilating with his fork.

Elrond had the grace to look at least mildly guilty.

It was at that point tht Glorfindel decided to take pity on him, "I heard that some of the scholars have finally managed to reconstruct the text of some of the more damaged texts from Numenor?"

"Quite," Erestor took the change of topic. "At least, that is what their request for an extended budget this season says. Somehow they expect me to track down the supplies they need for a more complete restoration. How they expect me to do that..."

"You will manage just fine," Glorfindel quipped back. Erestor would of course manage to track down the supplies; he always managed to find everything. He would complain about it every evening for the next decade, but the supplies would be found. Glorfindel was almost looking forward to such inane complaints from his husband - it would certainly be a familiarity whilst life was uprooted.

"Which texts, do you know?" Elrond was almost excited by the news; Glorfindel wondered just how Elrond had not heard.

"I am not certain. You would probably need to ask, though I am sure they would be thrilled to show you their work; though the text is reconstructed, I am not convinced any of them actually speak Adûnaic."

Elrond sighed, "I do, however, have duties which must be attended to."

"I have spread the majority of your duties among the councillors for the next week," Erestor looked proud of himself. "Consider yourself on leave to care for your injured relatives. Officially I listed Elrohir, though I did of course time it for Maglor as well. If you need more than a week, I shall resubmit for you in five days time. Anything urgent will still be passed on, but we will keep it to a minimum."

"Thank you, my friend."

"No trouble. Far less trouble than you doing a bad job due to stress."

Elrond laughed, as Glorfindel gave Erestor an affectionate smile. They were already ankle deep into another storm - a blunt knife to the throat and a brawl in a pub was barely a storm, but signalled the start of more - but they would get out the other side in the end.

Even if Glorfindel had to drag the entire household along by their ears, he would see them safely to the far side. It was, after all, his duty.


	7. Elrohir: Home Is Where You Leave Your Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir is lonely, but at least the kitchen staff are awake at 3am. Also featuring a training session and Erestor reciting bad literature from Gondor's High Society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. And also for last chapter. This should be back to regular Elrond family angstiness. Also some silliness. Hopefully soon I will be able to move into a place and I will be able to impliment an actual writing scheduel instead of a few words here and there on buses.  
> Though I have now written out the plot for this. It should be around 30 chapters total, and I am very pleased by some of the later ideas. Please bear with me until then.
> 
> Content Warnings: It does not get into the sex scene, but Erestor does recite the build up to a sex scene in a very bad porn novel. This is not based on any fic which exists (a quick google did not bring up the pairing at all). If you wish to miss this, just skip the paragraph begining 'Erestor blinked exactly once before complying'. The contents of it are not important for reasons other than continuing the conversation.

Dinner was, for the most part, a blissfully uneventful affair. Elrohir had some difficulty managing his cutlery with one arm still immobilized, but managed to work out how to feed himself before anyone tried to interfere. Usually he would not have rejected assistance, but then usually he was not recovering from injuries caused by his own stupidity. He toyed with his food, finding his appetite vanished. Personally, he blamed the medication that he had forced down his throat earlier in the day; he knew it was necessary, and it helped a lot with the pain, but that did not make it any less foul.

Elladan had disappeared from the high table sometime between the main course and dessert. Elrohir did not join him, remaining at his father's side throughout the meal. His father had given him permission to go join Elladan and their friends at the lower tables, and Elrohir did return their enthusiastic waving, but he was still hesitant to make his way down. He knew it was childish, and a bit of him sat uncomfortably with giving in to such desires, but he was in pain and being close to his father made him feel safer. Elrond seemed to have picked up on that fact, for he was making a point of ignoring Glorfindel's attempts to drag the small talk, just small enough for Elrohir to follow, into something more involved.

If he were well, Elrohir would either have been paying better attention to this discussion of what terrible, but engaging, historical fiction they had discovered recently - there were a few pieces he had read recently, and would on a better day argue for. The nobility of Gondor was fairly reliably responsible for the worst for it, and true to form one of their offerings was winning - a tale of Anárion son of Isildur's affair with Tar-Míriel. That in and of itself was fairly standard for these sorts of things - two figures of what was, to them, ancient history, being paired together and torn apart by jealous husbands or tragic circumstances. This piece's status as the pinnacle of current trends in literature was affirmed less by that than by the fact it completely rewrote the ancestry of the legendary Kings of Gondor, making them descendants of the last Queen of Numenor. To Elrohir, who was just old enough to have met, though not remember meeting, Meneldil son of Anárion, it was somewhat amusing in way a tales of Eärnur still could not be. To the others at the high table, who remembered Anárion and his wife well and properly, it was hilarious - especially when Erestor began reciting some of the more ridiculous elements in disproving deadpan.

Elrohir was startled away from the conversation by a familiar voice. Devedis, one of his and Elladan's band of friends, was leaning on the table before him. Noticing his inattention, she gave a small laugh.

"Are you joining us in the Hall of Fire tonight?" she repeated.

Elrohir gave the question the few seconds of consideration that it deserved. He did want to spend time with his friends, he truly did, but already he could feel the his limbs tiring. He did his best to make an apologetic smile, "I am sorry; I am still unwell and need to rest."

"I understand," she offered him a softer, consolidatory smile. "Poison is the worst. Hope you feel better soon?"

"Thanks," he did manage to smile properly that time. "I feel better than yesterday, at least."

As she waved and moved away, Elrohir turned to see his father carefully examining him. Slowly, he raised one of his hands and pressed the back of it against Elrohir's head. The small frown was all the answer he really needed.

"You may leave if you are feeling unwell," father quietly reminded him.

"I can manage a little while longer," Elrohir also kept his voice quiet; no need for the entire hall to hear them.

Father nodded, "I am sure we can have a scene caused if you need cover to escape at any point."

"Thanks," Elrohir did not want to continue to discuss his health, so turned leant to be seen around his father. "Erestor, could you repeat that bit?"

Erestor blinked exactly once before complying, "'Now, twas in the third hour that the lady came upon Anárion's chambers. She crept up to him, slipping pale and slim wrists from her robe. Ever so slowly she began to tongue his injuries. Even more slowly, he awoke. Their eyes met as he blushed furiously, and her features remained delicately innocent. Anárion could not help but cheer at the sight of her delicate tongue pressed to his side. 'My dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?' 'My darling lord, I heard you had been so cruelly injured, so came to offer my support.' 'Your support of... Licking me?' 'Did you not know that the tongue of a king is the tongue of a healer, and I despite all am the rightful king?' 'I cannot say I have heard that one before...' 'Oh really?' she smiled with true innocence, 'my husband claims it all the time.' 'Say,' Anárion cooed, ''tis most unfortunate that my tongue has been so cruelly harmed!' 'Oh... Oh!' she blushed furiously, 'I can indeed help you with that, my lord.' 'And what about my injured manhood?' Her blush turned crimson as she grinned, 'I can most certainly assist you in that matter''," Erestor cleared his throat and his voice gained a very minimal semblance of emotion. Still, his eyes were glittering with a deep and honest amusement. "I am not dignifying the rest of this passage with a recitation. I do not even believe it is physiologically possible for two mortals of opposing sexes to perform such acts, but I will confess it is not my expertise."

Glorfindel was snorting in a rather undignified manner, and father giggling lightly. Elrohir, despite having asked for the repeat, was very pleased when dessert arrived a moment later.

* * *

Elrohir managed to stay awake for only moments after dessert, but that was enough time to do so. Almost as soon as his spoon had been placed on the plate, father had exiled him to his room. He did not object. Sleep had come easily - he had pushed himself slightly further than he had realised - but unfortunately it did not remain that way.

It was dark when he awoke, and it took a few moments of terror for him to recognise his room. He did not remember having a nightmare, but felt as though he might have done.

With a few sharp motions he lit an oil lamp; the light bought his room further into view, with its mildly fluttering curtains and his armour discarded to one side. Both father and Glorfindel would surely scold him for that lack of care, but then he was also reasonably certain he had not been the one to put it there. Still, the darkness seemed to compress in on him. His senses peaked, trying to listen out for orcs or worse in the darkness. He was home, but the first few nights after returning from the wilds was always such. 

He had hoped he would miss it with the time in the healing rooms. Apparently not.

When after a few minutes of waiting in the lamplight his heart still did not fully calm, Elrohir slipped from his bed. He left the blankets in a pile, picked up the lamp and slowly eased himself from his room.

The corridors were worse; his room should be empty, but he awoke at night so rarely that he the lack of servants was unsettling. Logically he knew it was the night and they would be resting, but logic was of little help in the darkness. Subconsciously, he reached for the knife on his hip, then gave a short gasp as his injured shoulder smarted. Still, he drew it and kept it close to his chest; even at home he carried it; one did not live even a thousand years without hearing tales of people taken in the night. One did not see what the enemy did to those they captured and ever rest easily again.

Especially not when she was one's mother.

Elrohir shook the image of bloodsoaked skin from his mind, tightening the grip on the lamp.

He found himself staring intently at Elladan's door, hand already on it. His twin surely would not mind if he needed the reassurance of another person, would he not? But... Elladan would be starting training again in the morning. Elrohir could not bare to wake him. Oh, of course Elladan would be angry, would say Elrohir should just wake him if he needed something and as the older brother it was not just his pleasure but his duty to help, but he still could not do that. And, well, Elladan did not have to know. Just go for a walk and clear his head, then back to bed. He was the best part of two and a half thousand years old, not some infant. He could manage himself.

The little voice that mentioned how grandmother was older than the sun, older than the moon, was old enough to have been there the day Morgoth was released, and still relied on at least one person was quickly crushed away. He was not supposed to know about that, anyway; grandmother Galadriel would be horrified to know he had once overheard her sobbing in her husband's arms on the anniversary of Finrod's death.

Instead of thinking further on the mutual reliance of elvenkind, he began to wander aimlessly. Eventually, he found himself drawn to the light of the kitchens.

It was still many hours before dawn, but already the kitchen maids were preparing for the day ahead. At this time, only the kitchens, the guards and the forges functioned. The fires were lit as apprentices scurried around, checking on rising loaves of bread and cleaning the great ovens. Imladris' chief of staff was the only non-apprentice present, overseeing the maids with a precise eye; early mornings were the time for the apprentices to prepare everything and make sure it was ready for the cooks to use later.

Being elbowed out the way by a young elleth who could not of been older than 40 as she swore and balanced a stack of plates taller than him was oddly reassuring.

He was ignored for a little while longer, getting into the swing of dodging the early morning work, before the supervisor sent someone over to him. At least, the elf had been called over to the supervisor, they had spoken a moment, then disappeared into the chaos only to reappear bowing at Elrohir's feet.

"Did you need anything, my Lord?" 

"Just a glass of water," he could have easily obtained one upstairs, but still needed to reply with something other than the truth; 'I was scared of being alone so aimlessly wandering'.

Quickly enough he was passed a glass of water and shooed away as soon as he finished drinking it; his presence was an inconvenience, as the chief of staff took no qualms about telling him.

Finding himself once again in the darkness of the corridors, Elrohir wandered once more. His mind was thankfully empty as he wandered. Eventually, his feet lead him once more to Elladan's room, around the time that exhaustion finally began to win over his restlessness.

He still hesitated. After a moment, he pushed open the door a creak. The sound of his brother's snoring was reassuring to the greatest degree, a stuffy warmth filling the room. Elladan's fire had long burnt down, but with his window and door jammed shut all night much of it was retained. So stuffy, in fact, that Elladan had kicked one of his many blankets off of the bed.

Still unwilling to wake Elladan, Elrohir crept to the blanket. He extinguished his lamp, and curled up. Above him Elladan muttered in his sleep, tossing about. Elrohir was fairly certain he had not been spotted, yet still his brother muttered something about him needing to shut up and sleep.

Yawning, Elrohir burrowed himself deeper into the blanket, then followed the advice.

 

* * *

In the morning, Elrohir awoke to find another blanket dropped haphazardly over his head. Initially he was not certain what had awoken him, but then he heard a familiar chuckle as he attempted to untangle himself - looking, it appeared Elladan had kicked the blanket off during the night, and it had landed on him. When he was finally free, he found Erestor gazing impassively down at him from the doorway. The light was that of not long after dawn, Gil-Estel still visible in the sky. It was too early for whatever Erestor wanted. That was almost definitely true.

"None of that, my Lord," Erestor's voice was as tempered as always. " You are both late for your training with my Lord Glorfindel."

"I am allowed back to training?" Elrohir perked up, sitting straighter. "Nobody had told me..."

"Apparently so. I will ensure the culprit is suitably disciplined, though I suspect it may be your father sending you to sleep before a final decision was reached," Erestor shifted ever so slightly. "Wake your brother. I shall tell my Glorfindel to expect you in eighteen minutes."

Elrohir started dragging himself up from the floor, cracking his back and regretting his choice of sleeping position. By the time he was standing, Erestor had disappeared. Elladan still seemed entirely undisturbed, snoring as he lay sprawled on the bed. Thinking only a moment, Elrohir grabbed the last of the blankets and pulled them away. Very quickly, he took a few steps backwards.

Elladan's indignant grumbling as he awoke caused Elrohir to start giggling. A moment later, one of the pillows from the bed hit him over the head. His giggling grew more intense.

"Did you miss me?" Elrohir asked, finally getting himself back under control.

"I think that was you, brother dearest," Elladan swung his legs over the side of the bed, squinting at the window before turning back to Elrohir. "You better have a good reason for waking me up this early."

"Maybe I just wanted to see your face," Elrohir left the pause for a few moments. "Erestor was here a few moments ago; apparently we are late for training."

Elladan groaned, then paused in his groaning to peer at Elrohir, "you are cheerful this morning... Wait, you said 'we'. You are training too?"

"Indeed I am, brother mine!" Elrohir took a bow. "I can only imagine what delights Glorfindel has in store, seeing as I am still not to use my arm."

Elladan groaned again, throwing his arms around dramatically. Elrohir took the opportunity to begin making his way over to the closet. He grabbed two of Elladan's sets of training gear, throwing one at his brother, then waving the other at him.

"Help me with this once you are done with yours?"

"That is mine."

"And?" Elrohir just stared at Elladan as though that was a completely ridiculous statement.

"Go get your own! Or is this punishment for me getting you injured?!"

It was said as a joke, and Elrohir knew that, but still he froze. How did... Surely Elladan did not think he was to blame for this. The tension in the room mounted

"Fuck, sorry," Elladan dropped his pile to the bed. Elrohir wanted to object to the apology - surely he should be apologising instead, but instead Elladan carried on. "... Just let me get changed and I will give you that hand."

Very slowly, Elrohir nodded.

The mood remained uncomfortable the entire time it took to prepare and meet Glorfindel. The captain was waiting for them on the training field with a pair of practice swords and a large quantity of rope.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" he smiled over at them. "Elrohir, I have cleared the activities for now with your father, but after breakfast you will need to sit out and if you need to stop, tell me. If you do not, you will be barred from the training field until you can prove you are responsible. Elladan, if your twin asks for a time out and you carry on, the same applies. Now, come over here a moment."

Elrohir nodded violently in response to the instructions; some training was still more than he had expected. He was almost too busy being pleased about the confirmation of him being allowed to attempt training to notice Glorfindel grabbing Elladan as soon as he was within range. The rope was quickly tied around his wrist, even as Elladan called out in annoyance, then used to immobilize the arm.

"You need to pay more attention," Glorfindel held up the rope. "I should not be able to do this with only getting yelled at, even whilst you are at home. Now, blades."

"So, um, now you have made your point, do I get my arm untied?" Elladan even raised his untied hand as he spoke.

"No," Glorfindel gave Elladan a flash of a grin. "Today we are practicing fighting with injuries. Elrohir, feel free to just keep your own. Elladan, no untying yourself; for the purposes of today's training, you only have one functional arm."

"But Ro can move his arm a bit..." Elladan whined.

"Then you will just have to outdo yourself, will you not? I will be scoring you rather than you running to surrender," Elladan seemed about to object, when Glorfindel raised a hand. "Terms of Elrohir's participation."

"Scoring system?" Elladan seemed about ready to begin, but Elrohir wished to know exactly what he was doing.

"Hitting your opponent's injury will score highest, though if you hit hard enough to cause the other pain in that place you will be removed," again Elladan went to interrupt, and Glorfindel cut him off. "Do you want to dislocate Elrohir's arm again? Because that is what will happen if you hit it full force at the wrong angle. Your father considers it safe enough, on the balance of possible gains, but I will not be having actual injuries on the training field. Clear?"

"Sir!" Elladan saluted.

"And the rest of the scoring?" Elrohir asked.

"That is a secret. Or for you to work out," Glorfindel waved a hand dismissively. "You have the full field this morning, breakfast is in two hours. When you are ready, begin."

Elrohir readied his position, then nodded to Elladan. When the nod was returned, they began. Despite his words, Glorfindel caused his advice from the sidelines. Elrohir could tell that Elladan was holding back even more than he usually did during training and, with a small smile, stepped up his offensive. Elladan slipped, landing hald. A moment later, he burst out into laughter.

"Alright, alright. You are not fragile, little brother."

"Indeed, I am not, oh ancient and wise one!"

They both laughed for a moment before Elladan let out a loud cry of 'distraction!' and a moment later the point was at Elrohir's throat. Though, with the seconds of warning, Elrohir's was against his chest.

"Elladan, next time do not announce the fact you are making use of the distraction and you might win. Elrohir, just because your enemy is on the floor does not mean they cannot hurt you. Both of you, stop putting all your weight on the foot with your functional arm; you will get knocked down. Take a drink if you need it, then take your positions."

The twins shared a nod, ignored the offer of a drink and took back their positions. This time, Elrohir carefully checked his balance; it did not stop Glorfindel coming over and manhandling him into a better posture. Once Glorfindel was satisfied, Elrohir tried his best to memorised what the positioning felt like. 

Correcting Elladan's posture took a little longer, but, soon enough, they were sparring again.

It was not until well into breakfast, hours later, that Elrohir realised he had left his hidden knife in Elladan's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is back to Elrond (and Maglor, who was supposed to appear here but did not work out), then a brief timeskip.


	8. Elrond: Market-day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond goes shopping, then begins some unpleasant history lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Chapter is chaptered! Rambling is saved for the endnotes.
> 
> Brief references to torture towards the end, but of the mentioning it happened sort, not the details sort. Don't think there is aught else to watch out for.

What could a half-elf do with enforced time off? That was the question currently facing Elrond. He sat on his balcony, watching the hum of Imladris awaken and prepare for marketday. Remembering the cup in his hands, he took a sip of it to delay the question. Moments later, his face twisted in disgust; at some point since he last had some, it had gone cold. 

In the past he would have gone with his family to one of the many waterfalls, to relax and swim and just exist in each other's presence. Even when his children were grown they had still done so, but now... His children were busy, his daughter away and his sons preparing for more bitter revenge, and his Celebrian... His poor, beautiful Celebrian. Her laugh and her smile and the light in her eyes-

Elrond stood up, and moved back into his office. He added more hot water to the tea, then started sipping it - still foul, but drinkably foul now - as he moved over to his desk. There he found a much smaller stack of paperwork than he was used to. It was all Erestor was allowing him to do during the week, and most of it requiring his specific input as Lord. He took a seat and started sorting through it, allocating it evenly across the days.

Among the paperwork he found the draft copies of letters to the other elven realms, and, now he looked, the members of the White Council. It was a standard letter Erestor had written to each, precise and to the point. Whilst perfectly polite and informative, Elrond could not help but think that maybe a purely official letter was not a good way to inform his mother-in-law about the mysterious return of her kinslaying cousin. Or Thranduil about the elf who killed his grandfather and helped destroy his ancestral home, for that matter. Cirdan, at least, was close enough to removed from the situation to not need a personal note, though it would take up more of his useless time... The other members of the council were removed enough from personal links to the situation it would be almost impolite to send more.

But these letters were something he could act on; he took some parchment and a quill from the cupboard in his desk, and began to write his own letters to accompany the formal missives. 

He started with Thranduil; the King of the Woodland Realm was probably the most understanding about the matter of Elrond's foster fathers. When Elrond had discussed the matters with his friend, the worst he had ever been was dismissive of them. Thranduil could not say he forgave or liked the Feanorians, but once or twice, with enough wine that he was probably not lying, the topic had come up - and he had claimed that for all he hated them, he understood. For was Thranduil not the only one of the elven rulers of this age to have never held a ring of power, yet also the only one whose realm was within the darkness? A darkness most likely caused by the Nazgul not Morgoth himself, but a darkness caused by the enemy and his servants nonetheless.

No, Thranduil understood what the darkness could do to someone on a personal and intimate level.

Cirdan's letter was also simple; he had seen much of the effects and crimes of the Sons of Feanor, but had also known them do him good. The letter was not really to explain like the other two, rather it was a social missive continuing an earlier conversation he could send with the other. The problem came with Galadriel.

They were close, but they were not friends. He trusted her with his life and his children, and he valued her advice more than anything, but this was a topic on which he had no idea how she felt. When he was young, he had been too terrified to ever mention his foster fathers to her. Eventually, it was a topic he could not really broach. She almost certainly already knew his feelings on the matter, for that was part of who she was, but they had never come up. 

So, how to tell his mother in law that her murderous and evil cousin was currently staying with him, and he was really quite attached and would rather she did not come murder anyone... 

After a long period of indecision, he eventually settled on summarising the entire story, as far as he remembered it. He sent for extra parchment and ink, and got to work.

* * *

When the letters were done, Elrond set his quill to one side. He read through them once more, double checking everything. Checking the light, there still seemed to be some time before lunch. Putting the paperwork together, he considered what to do next.

It was a cool morning, the weather just beginning to change, but it was pleasant enough. It was also just late enough that the market should be starting to open. After a few moments of consideration, Elrond tied his coin purse to a belt under his outermost robe and set off to wander and look around it. As he made his way across the city, he met with and made smalltalk with many of the inhabitants.

In a city inhabited by Noldor, even when they were not the only race present, it was a fact that sooner or later you would find a someone selling jewels. Therefore, it was rather inevitable that Elrond would pass one in his wandering. Once he had seen it, he decided to have a proper look; the letters he needed to send, and especially the one to Galadriel, would probably go down more favourably with a peace offering. Gifting people unused gemstones was common, almost like gifts of cut flowers between hobbits and men. Nothing too fancy, though; then he would be accused of bribery.

Elrond picked him out the glitziest, tackiest fake diamonds he could find for Thranduil, knowing the joke would be appreciated. They were all of course white, and could be used to bulk out his collection. These were made of zircon, cut that even Elrond's inexpert eye could tell the difference - the merchant was visibly distressed by the idea he might have met a Lord of the Noldor who could not identify the fakes, though calmed down when Elrond picked out an actual diamond for Galadriel and addressed it as such.

Galadriel did not especially like diamonds, at least not enough to justify the cost, but it was the most appropriate gift given context and their respective statuses. She would appreciate the etiquette more than the gift itself, and the reverence it implied.

Cirdan had no real appreciation for gemstones, though he knew of the customs, so Elrond picked out a pouch of pearls and bits of especially pretty shell for him. The merchant placed them in an elaborate pouch as he worked out the total cost.

Elrond was about to hand over the required gold, when he noticed one of the rubies. He had not been intending to get anything else, and it was not an appropriate gift to well, anyone he had been intending to give gifts to. Yet, the opportunity was far too good to pass up - it also solved his problem with what to do with his afternoon.

He added it to the purchase, ignored the twinge at the price, and headed off to lunch with incredible self-satisfaction.

* * *

After a lunch filled with confused looks from Glorfindel, Elrond slipped away to Maglor's room. He was pleasantly surprised to find his pseudo-father awake and showing an actual awareness of his surroundings.

"Atto?" Elrond used the single word to request entry.

Maglor did not speak or wave him in, but did look over. Taking it as the permission he had been seeking, he slipped in and took the chair at the side of the bed. Once he had done so, he slipped a hand into a pocket and took the ruby into his fist.

"I bought you a gift," Elrond smiles, upturning his fist and opening it to show off the gem.

It was a small ruby, the colour of blood. That, however, was not its only feature; across it and centered in the middle of the polished oval were white markings forming a star. One not entirely dissimilar from the stylised form of Gil-Estel found all over Imladris, in turn based on the Star of Feanor.

"... Really, Elrond?" Maglor does not go to take it, but then his hands were too covered in bandages to have been successful. "Really?"

For what felt like the first time in an age, Elrond gave an almost impish grin, "why, atto, I thought you might appreciate being given one of the stars my fathers are famous for."

It had not occurred to Elrond that his atto would see this as anything other than funny. Still, Maglor did not laugh, and continued to give him a vaguely bemused glare. It took him a moment to realise that the silence and raised eyebrow was simply his way of continuing the joke. They held it for a long moment.

"You may as well add it to the pile, though I am uncertain of what to do with them," Maglor gestured to the bedside table, where a tidy collection of gems was amassing. His face had softened into a deep exhaustion.

Surely the pile of gems could only be gifts from some of the Feanorian loyalists around Imladris; Elrond placed the star ruby down next to a black sapphire.

"I am certain there will be a fight for who got the pleasure of donating the materials and expertise if you were to ask someone to have them set for you," Elrond studied the collection - there were an awful lot of them... "Maybe you could make it into a contest? Win the favour of the last of the Sons of Feanor by crafting the best piece of jewelry."

"What need have I of jewelry?" Elrond could also see the doubt of people being willing to make him things, though Maglor did not comment on it.

"It looks nice, and you are Noldor royalty. You should probably not be seen without at least enough rings to cover all your fingers."

Maglor gave a long, if slightly bitter, laugh, "I suppose it would make everything more valuable when I need to sell it."

"You could put my gift into a circlet, decked by these," Elrond picked up a pair of bright turquoise from the table. They were either a gift from someone who knew Maglor and his preferences intimately well, or supposed to be a polite insult. It was often hard to tell.

There were a few minutes of Maglor frowning as he looked at what Elrond was holding, "those are too bright. It would distract. You need something either darker or white," then he paused, shaking his head. "Not that I think this is a good idea at all."

"Of course it is," Elrond put the gems back down. "All of my family wear circles with star-gems on at formal occasions."

There was a long pause, Elrond silently challenging Maglor to contradict their relation. Eventually, his atto sighed and smiled tiredly, "I am not going to be dissuading you, am I?"

"No," Elrond smiled back.

They sat in comfortable silence for a short while, Elrond's mind wandering. He was startled out on a musing on if he could implement automatic plumbing into the older parts of the house when Maglor spoke again, "those I travelled with claimed they were your children...?"

Elrond smiled softly, "Elladan and Elrohir. Twins. Then there is my youngest, Arwen, though she is away. They are all safe and well."

The response started with a slow nod, Maglor almost visibly thinking. Elrond sat silently, waiting for the inevitable next question. In the end, it was not the one he had expected, but maybe he should not have been surprised.

"What... What did I do to Elros?"

"You raised him with as much care and affection as you had left to give," Elrond almost snapped those words. He then took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. He had been expecting the wife question, had prepared for that, but obviously Maglor would be more concerned with the wellbeing of his twin. The phrasing was off, though... He should pay attention for- ah, yes, atto would want a continuation. "If you mean to ask what happened to him, then..." he tried to think of how best to phrase the matter. "When the army of the Valar came to Beleriand, Elros and I were offered a choice; if we would live the realities of man or elf. I chose to be an elf. Elros... Did not," it was almost surprisingly painful to discuss.

Still, Elrond did not allow Maglor a chance to comment, merely checking he was not overly distressed, before he continued on, "after the War, he crafted great ships with the help of Cirdan, and lead the Edain to an island prepared for them by the Valar. I... Did not ever hear from him again, after that, though I am told he loved his wife and his children and knew peace in all his days," Elrond took a brief pause to force tears back into his eyes; the last words they had spoken, declarations of hate for their sundering, echoed in his mind. "His descendants visit often; I am not sure when they are next due, but they are brave and noble and defend their people with everything they are. Elros would be so very proud of them; I am."

"I am proud of you as well, little star," Maglor's words were quiet, and Elrond shuffled slightly under them. They had been unlooked for, but to hear them lightened his heart somewhat. Maglor gave him a soft smile, and they lapsed into silence for another long moment.

"What else have I missed?" Maglor folded his hands into his lap. 

"Much. Can we narrow it down to smaller questions?" Elrond was not sure he was able to precisely summarize the events of the last age and a half without missing important details; Erestor would be a far better choice.

"Who is the King?" Again, Maglor's choice of question was a surprise.

"There is none of the Noldor," this part was easy enough, so long as he completely suppressed his memories of the events. "Gil-Galad ruled until a bit over two and a half thousand years ago, when he died alongside a King of Men in battle against Sauron. Most of the Noldor have returned to Aman across the sea, though some remainder are found both here in Imladris and in Lindon. Oropher who had been king of the Silvans died in the same war; his son, Thranduil, is now the only elvenking. Cirdan rules Lindon, where most of the Laiquendi can be found. Galadriel and Celeborn rule over the Sindar."

"Galadriel is well?" Maglor seemed almost relieved to hear of her.

"As well as can be expected; causing less trouble than she fixes, nowadays. My daughter is studying with her," he was not quite yet ready to give the actual details of their relationship.

"My other kin?" 

Elrond knew the question meant Celebrimbor, though he continued to delay as long as he could, "of those who were still alive when I last saw you, Finarfin returned to Valinor with the host. Gil-Galad we have mentioned, and I suspect you know better than I what happened to atar," there was a long pause, during which Maglor turned to glare at him. Elrond gave a sigh, "Celebrimbor is dead, by Sauron's hand. Those of his followers who survive live here, in my city."

"You are not telling me something important," Maglor continued his sharp look, words turning cold. "What happened to my nephew, Elrond?"

Of course now Maglor would look past his own thoughts long enough to find the half truth. As he spoke, Elrond did his best to suppress his emotions, "he was Lord of Ost-in-Edhil, a settlement you probably do not know of but that was founded by Galadriel and Celeborn. There he lead a guild of jewelsmiths - the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Sauron came to them in disguise, and tutored them. Celebrimbor was tricked into helping him make rings of power, and also made some of his own without Sauron's aid. Then Sauron left and made another, one bound to his very existence," Elrond shifted uncomfortably, and felt one of Maglor's hands press against his leg. "When Sauron's foul play was revealed, Celebrimbor hid the rings of power he still had. Sauron returned to Ost-in-Edhil with his army, and from Celebrimbor tortured the locations of the rings they had made together, though he would not reveal those he had crafted in private. We..." finally his voice broke for a moment, memories of blood and fear and desperate flight overwhelming before being shoved once more away. "We tried to save him, but everything was over-run. He was tortured for 2 years, never giving Sauron the information he most desired, before finally succumbing to the injuries inflicted upon him."

Maglor looked absolutely furious, hands twitching as his lips pursed and his face twisted into a scowl. It was the very expression he had once worn as he bisected an orc only moments from killing a pinned Maedhros many thousands of years ago.

"That bastard had better be destroyed," Maglor's words were quiet, devoid of anything but absolute and pure hatred. 

For a long moment, the only movement was Maglor's hands trying to twitch into fists. Elrond was desperately glad that he had not mentioned, nor been asked, just how he had gotten the details or why the Gwaith-i-Mírdain lived with him and not elsewhere.

"He is... We do not know where he is," Elrond hesitated to tell Maglor. "Since his body was destroyed at the end of the last age, he has been missing. He is tied to the ring he created alone; it is also missing, but whilst it exists he cannot truly be destroyed and can still influence the world. I have foreseen his return, as has Galadriel, but we do not know where he is currently or when it will occur. I can tell you of what else he has done, if you are able to listen?"

"I... I know it is selfish of me, but I wish time to grieve Celebrimbor before I hear of the crimes against brighter and better people."

Elrond rested one hand on Maglor's shoulder, causing him to look up and make bleary eye contact, "Celebrimbor was good and kind, and maybe his trust in people got him killed, but so did his refusal to bow to the enemy. Yes, many have fallen to Sauron, and many of them were great and good, but do not for one moment think that my cousin was not among them."

Maglor looked at him, evidently still unconvinced that any good could come from his kin - and Curufin least of all. Still, convincing him was not a job Elrond could do alone - once his father was reliably well and security was adequate, he would have to see if some of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were willing to speak with him about how wonderful their former leader was. Possibly Cadwordor, given his great love of both his Lord and talking. 

Still, that was a later Elrond problem to fix. The now problem was the anguished look on Maglor's face, a mirror of his own.

"Would you like me to stay, or do you wish some privacy?" Elrond's words soft and gentle.

"Stay," Maglor's voice was still quiet, but now choked with emotion. "I... If you could bear to stay for one such as I, I would... Just no more poetry, please?"

Elrond did not have the heart to tease his atto. So, instead, he shifted from the chair to the bed that he might hug him. Maglor clung back as best as he was able, silently crying for Celebrimbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I write a scene with Maglor and Elrond without it ending with one or both of them in tears and gratiuitous hugging? Not actually convinced.  
> Maglor would look a lot less well from his PoV, but then I would not have been able to write this from there. It was supposed to end with finding out about Numenor, but I was writing and he was like 'I cannot deal with all that awfulness at once'. So he didn't.
> 
> Note on the comment on Thranduil and Mirkwood: the necromancer had been in Dol Goldur, abandoned it, then moved back in not long before Celebrian was kidnapped. They were not yet aware of who he was. To the best of my research, they were not yet aware that it was actually Sauron-Sauron, and still thought it was a Nazgul. I could not find a clear answer for when they worked it out.
> 
> Notes on the gems mentioned (also, poking Spacewall for the conversation of the idea of using gemstones as gifts instead of flowers): I shall ramble here because I can. You can find a picture of approximately the gem here: <https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Star_ruby.jpg>  
> Thranduil's white gemstones are a reference to the Hobbit, Cirdan's I got rather stuck on so just gave him pretty sea things, and Galadriel's is all about rarity and cost of the gift and the respect it implies - and she is very fond of respect.   
> Maglor's is why this is even here because joke to myself: rubies and sapphires have the same chemical composition. Stereotypical sapphires are blue, the colour of Fingolfin, from whose House Elrond is descended. Sapphire is also the gem in Vilya, and so I have assigned it as the gem of Elrond's House. However, red is the colour of the House of Feanor, so effectively its a combination of the two houses. The dark bloody red is a joke about kinslaying that only Elrond and Elros would ever be able to get away with. The star is a thing which happens with very specific impurities, and as Elrond implies is him giving Maglor a 'star'-just like Gil-Estel, the silmaril-star of Earendil, Elrond's atya. This is again a thing only Elrond, or a handful of dead people, could get away with.  
> The black sapphire is from Erestor. Because black, but also part of Elrond's household so sapphire. Maglor was asleep when it was delivered.


	9. Erestor: Come Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is cold, Glorfindel has nightmares, Maglor finally asks an important question, and for some reason all of these things are Erestor's problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry. No idea how long the next part will take either; its a traumatic time of year for me, my immune system is crap, and I'm still couch hopping.
> 
> If you ever wanted to see what 65 hour chapter looks like, look no further The longest form of this was 12,000 words. It was supposed to be about 2,000. I've cut it back down; please let me know if I cut out something that it no longer makes sense.  
> I am just sick to death of this chapter. Very, very sick to death of it.

There were few circumstances under which Erestor was unhappy to be called to his Lord's office, but this was one of them. He was busier than he had been for years, and he was very busy at the best of times. Of course, Lord Elrond had summoned him without considering the fact that, maybe, he did not have just a few minutes before dinner; there were arguments to be had and advice to be given and an entire settlement to stop from collapsing around itself.

He resented the guards Glorfindel had insisted take up residence in his office, but had to confess that it had prevented any more incidents with knives or similar. Especially when they were determined to escort him to his meeting, and wait for him outside. It was not improving his mood.

Still, Lord Elrond had summoned him, so of course he would attend. Even if it had cost him a meeting with Master Dolthon, the second most senior of Imladris' loremasters. Hopefully, he would not take the rearrangement as a personal offence; certainly, he was least unreasonable than the rest of the people he was supposed to be meeting with that afternoon.

Three quick knocks on the door, and Erestor let himself into Elrond's office. The guards stayed where they were supposed to, at least. He glared at them, ensuring they would, before shutting the door behind him.. He did not immediately spy Elrond, though he possibly should have done. He was, once again, stood out on the balcony, gazing forlornly in the direction of the sea. When he did not seem to notice Erestor's presence, he cleared his throat. That did not work either, so Erestor gently placed his hand over Elrond's where it grasped the railings. The hand was no warmer than they were. Erestor felt some of his irritation fade with the cold, the rest becoming consumed by concern.

"You called me, my Lord?" Erestor was careful to keep his voice level, even as his mind fretted over his part-mortal Lord being out in only light silks and cold as death itself.

Elrond's movements were as graceful as one could expect from an elven Lord, though Erestor could read the surprise in them and the faked nature of the smile on his lips. Before he could say anything, however, Elrond was already speaking.

"I apologise for the short notice. Please, take a seat and I will make some tea."

Erestor kept close watch on Elrond as he took a seat across from the desk. He did not need the tea, in fact there was a high probability that drinking it would cause him to miss his next meeting as well. But his Lord certainly needed it. And he would see to his Lord's health over the bickerings of state.

By calculation, missing a meeting with Istuives had the potential for a number of problems, but none that were impossible to smooth over. The former citizens of Eregion had selected a sensible, if stubborn, woman to unofficially lead their remnant. She had a tendency towards bluntness, but Erestor could appreciate that. Made everything much quicker and simpler to deal with.

It was only after Elrond had poured two cups of tea and taken a seat - before the fire, not behind his desk - that either of them spoke again.

"I have a request to make of you," Elrond smiled at Erestor, but there was something sad within it. It was not quite the smile that worried him and his Glorfindel so much, but close. Erestor would do near anything to erase the heartbreak within it. If only there was something that could be done.

"What do you need?" Erestor took a sip of his tea, masking his concern behind propriety.

Elrond was cupping his mug in his hands, evidently still considering if his request was truly the one he wanted to make, "I need you to escort atya to his new rooms."

"He is still refusing to see anyone, then?" Erestor tried not to be bitter about the matter; he had visited a few times, but once Maglor had regained something akin to coherency, he had refused to see any but Elrond. It did not take much effort to calculate why he was being asked.

Elrond bowed his head in agreement, "it is my hope that if he is forced to interact with someone in a professional capacity, he might be less resistant to it; he needs to speak to someone who is not me. Physically, he is well enough… Mentally," Elrond sighed. "I knew it would be bad, but… He needs more than just my support, and I cannot give him everything. I have Imladris and my children to care for, and cannot be there for everyone all of the time."

It was probably not worth pointing out that he also had duties to perform, Erestor decided. At least Elrond was accepting that he could not take everything alone; baby steps. Very, very small baby steps. "And you think I am a good choice?"

"I trust you more than anyone except maybe your husband, Erestor. Who else in Imladris can I leave him with unsupervised?" 

"The remnants of Doriath will not be happy if I and he are left alone together. And the Feanorian remnants will take it as permission to harass him."

"You have my permission to ask Glorfindel for whatever guards you need. Or anything else, from whomever; just hand me whatever needs signing."

At least he has not suggested that Erestor just forge his signature as Celebrimbor had once done. The memory of his previous lord stang.

"When do you expect this done?"

"Just whenever you have the time; we will need the rooms once the snow comes, but for now there is no rush. The healers will manage."

Which of course meant 'the other healers are incredibly annoyed that he is still here'. 

"I will do so tomorrow, so long as the rooms are ready."

"Thank you, my friend. That is all I needed you for."

Erestor knew he should leave quickly; if he did, he could still be on time for his next meeting. Still, he hesitated. 

"My Lord Elrond?"

"Yes, Erestor?" Elrond seemed surprised that Erestor had not immediately left, an uncommon uncertainty in his words.

He hesitated for a few seconds, unsure if he should voice his concern. Then, he reasoned, if he did not, nobody would, "are you well?"

"I am fine; there is no reason to worry."

Liar.

"… My Glorfindel and I are concerned for you. Remember that we are here if you need us… Please remember that we care," they were not words that were easy for Erestor to say, and they were stilted and strange, but hopefully the truth of them was apparent.

"You do not need to be," the look on Elrond's face was not convincing of that matter. Erestor glowered at him as sharply as he could manage, but did not call him out on it. For a long moment, they stared at one another in an impasse.

"…I will speak with you tomorrow. Finish the tea," finally he could not risk staying longer, if he wished not to offend the Farmer's Guild. Erestor turned and strode from the office.

As he left, he caught the image of Elrond curling up on his chair, clutching his wedding ring tightly to his chest. The word 'liar' balanced on Erestor's tongue once more; he bit it away. Instead, he hurried off towards the meeting.Calling Elrond out now would do nothing but upset him further. And it was far, far too delicate a situation to risk.

* * *

Later that day, Erestor met with Glorfindel over dinner. Sequestered in their private sitting room, long after sunset, they made discussion of many things; Glorfindel spoke of threads and patterns, Erestor not especially interested in the topic yet enthralled by the joy in his husband's voice. It would usually be his turn to speak whatever was his topic of interest after, but the finer points of calligraphy seemed like a pale glimmer compared to what he needed to speak of.

"May I speak of something serious, my Glorfindel?" he asked, voice soft and quiet.

Immediately Glorfindel's posture shifted, taking one of Erestor's hands and granting him his full attention.

"I am concerned about Elrond."

"What happened?" Glorfindel squeezed his hands. 

"He called me to a meeting, at a time he had been given. I was late; I found him on the balcony. In silks, and evidently having been there some time. He did not notice me, and was almost painfully cold to the touch. When I left him afterwards..." Erestor sighed, drawing back one of his hands to rest over the other and Glorfindel's. He felt his lips press together, as he tried to think of how possibly to finish the sentence.

In the end, Glorfindel finished it for him, "as soon as he thought you had gone he seemed to fall apart?"

"Exactly."

"I just..." Erestor frowned. "Why should he suffer further? Why does nothing we do help? And if you say 'the tragedies of Arda Marred' I will stab you."

Glorfindel, who had inevitably been about to do exactly that, closed his mouth, chewed his lip for half of a moment, then opened it again. "Do you want an answer to it at all?"

There was a prolonged pause as Erestor considered that question, their hands parting so they could return to their meals as they thought. "No. I have plenty of answers, not of which please me... I do not suppose you have had any further thoughts on how we might help him?"

The returning shake of the head was as sad as it was exhausted, "if I think of anything, my heart, you will know of it as quickly as I can send a message."

Erestor had entirely expected that answer, but his next stabbing of his food was especially violent regardless. Glorfindel gently placed one of his hands over one the one holding the fork.

"Erestor... Tell me your troubles," Really, people needed to start giving Glorfindel more credit. Of course, Erestor had known that fact for years, but it did not change its validity.

"It is not strictly that I am troubled by it..." Erestor paused a moment, shaking his head. How best to phrase things... "Our Lord Elrond has asked me to relocate the Lord Maglor to his rooms in the family quarters."

Glorfindel sucked a breath through his teeth, but did not yet reply.

"The coming winter is predicted to be harsh, and the healers require the space"

"And moving him up here will free a few more guards to help gather supplies," Glorfindel kept his face perfectly bland, though Erestor could see him thinking.

"I wish to request an escort - not a large one, just enough to dissuade trouble. And to convince people that it is not he and I conspiring on some dark 'Feanorian' schemes."

Glorfindel's hand tightened on Erestor's, "you are seeing to it personally."

"Our Lord has instructed that I do it personally."

"But you would have done it anyway."

"But I would have done it anyway."

After the confirmation, they ate in silence for a few minutes.

"I will escort you myself, if that is acceptable?"

"Please," Erestor would be rather glad to have Glorfindel by his side, all things given. And whilst the Sindar may become displeased with the fact it was two Noldor escorting Maglor, the two most senior members of Elrond's House doing so did make sense.

There was another pause, before Glorfindel dropped his fork to the table and gave a large sigh. "Erestor why do you care?"

"About...?" Erestor could of course extrapolate the answer, he would just rather not do so.

"You know exactly what I am talking about."

He considered the question carefully, before constructing his answer. There were many answers he could give - because he was the first Lord I was ever sworn to, because he was my father's friend, because Elrond calls him father, because he saved my life... But which was the root? All played a part, but how to summarised; Glorfindel knew his past, that did not bear repeating.

"Because," he spoke his answer slowly, weighing each word. "Before the Oath consumed everything he was, before the Ninareth when last we walked the same paths, before Doriath and Sirion, he was kind."

Erestor would have been happy to stop there, but Glorfindel was still watching him expectantly. So on he continued.

"I cannot speak of times before I was born, of course. But when the dragons came, no matter his own wounds, no matter the cost to his life, he went out of his way to save everyone he could. At the Ninareth, he shed his blood to try and save the world. He counselled against Doriath then, and it is told he counselled for surrender in the end. When Elrond speaks not of a murderer but of a tired hand pushing him towards greatness, yet guiding him from harm, of an ancient and broken soul that still believes that everything will be alright in the end - that is the Lord Makalaure I knew. He has done great evil, and for a very long time I did not know how to reconcile that with who I knew him to have been, wondering if it was gone or a lie... I still do not know if I can; I thought I had, but being presented with him is another thing.

"Yet, if the twins, who have no real cause to lie to us, are to be believed, then they only live because he saved them. And, despite everything else he has done, that is also whom I remember... And if he can yet be saved, the world will be better for it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Glorfindel leaned forward and kissed his forehead, "then, I will support you as best I can. This is, afterall, your expertise."

Their conversation moved swiftly onwards to lighter topics. By the time they came to sleep, it was later than either would have desired.

 

* * *

Erestor was awoken far earlier than was reasonable, to the sound of quiet sniffing. It took him a second of trying to burrow back under the blankets to realise it was Glorfindel who was crying. After only another few seconds he was fully alert, quickly searching the room. His husband was still safely curled on the bed, though he had his back to Erestor and was shivering in a way unaccounted for by the chill of a cloudless night. Without really thinking about it, Erestor shifted to wrap himself around him.

"My Glorfindel? My love?" he pressed his face against his back, and whispered the words.

Some of the tension drained out of him with Erestor's presence, but still he did not speak. So Erestor simply held him close, humming a half-remembered tune of his childhood. It was a little uncomfortable, being so much smaller than Glorfindel was, but he did not for one moment consider that a problem. When he ran out of tune, he promised Glorfindel that he was there, then began humming something new. As he did so, he let his mind wander as to which problem it might be this time.

Eventually, Glorfindel began to uncurl. Erestor immediately let him go. It took a few moments, but, eventually, Glorfindel twisted back around and to kiss his cheek.

"What is wrong?" Erestor whispered.

Glorfindel hesitated his reply, taking one of Erestor's hands in his own. When the other hand came to stroke it, Erestor became more concerned. Making sure Glorfindel could see it, he bought up his free hand to cup his head and rub his thumb over his cheekbone. Slowly, Glorfindel's hand came to join Erestor's. A moment later, he turned with sudden movement and latched onto Erestor. SIghing, Erestor moved to rest his head atop his husband's, muttering reassurances to the darkness.

In time, Glorfindel pulled away, moving to sit on the bed. Erestor leant to wrap the blankets over his shoulders.

"Thank you, sweetest," Glorfindel's words remained uncharacteristically quiet.

"Do you wish to talk now, or in the morning?" Erestor ran a hand across his husband's back. He was not getting out of telling him what was so upsetting, but without urgent threat it could wait until morning.

"It was just a dream. A nightmare, that is all."

Erestor had to bite back an accusation of lying to him; in the thousands of years they had been married, only a handful of dreams had caused such a reaction. All were in at least part memory, "Just?."

"What is a beloved someone returning unexpectedly after many years away to you, Erestor?" Glorfindel's voice somehow fell even quieter

Two and two made six, if you were exhausted enough. Sighing, Erestor dragged himself to join Glorfindel in a sitting position, "Imladris is not Gondolin, my Glorfindel. Lord Maglor is not Lord Maeglin. It will be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Erestor pressed a small kiss to Glorfindel's forehead. "And even if I am wrong, we will keep watch. We will not trust him with anything he does not earn.

"Nothing but Lord Elrond…"

"He earnt that by rescuing the children, did he not?"

Glorfindel leant back into his arms, murmuring a hesitant assent. After a long moment, he broke into the silence of the night again, "I dreamt of Gondolin. Of the fire and the fall. You…" Glorfindel broke into a sob, "you took the place of Ecthelion."

Erestor kissed the back of Glorfindel's neck, offering what physical comfort he could. "My Glorfindel… I am here, I will not leave you. And I am certainly not inclined to fight a Balrog, let alone the Lord of the Balrogs - surely you are aware I am not nearly as brave as that."

The small laugh was humourless, but Erestor counted it as success. "No, my love," Glorfindel pulled away, still crying, that he could cup Erestor's face in one hand. "M-my love is far… far to clever for such stupid ideas."

He did not agree with those words per say - in the circumstances, with their skills, and being who they were, the actions of most of the Lords of Gondolin could not be construed as 'stupid', or even 'ill-advised'. As far as Erestor knew, most genuinely believed the situation was all or nothing, and if they did not win worse fates would come upon the survivors than mere death. It was not stupidity, it was desperation. Still, he gave a little laugh, nuzzling his face into Glorfindel's shoulder, "Exactly," he whispered. "No ridiculous last stands for me."

In his heart he knew that, if it came to it, that his Glorfindel would make one once again. And he also knew that, if that happened, he would not follow him.

The thought of separation hurt. Erestor could feel his own tears start to form. So, he pulled away, intending to go to the bathroom and wash them away. A moment later, Glorfindel pressed a kiss to his lips.

"If I have to make another, it will make me glad to know you are safe, even as I die," Glorfindel whispered.

"I know, and it only breaks my heart all the more."

Erestor could hold the tears no longer, remembering war after was and sacrifice after sacrifice. He was too distracted to notice Glorfindel pulling him close once more, even as he instinctively burrowed his face into his neck. Glorfindel's own tears streamed into his hair. It was only a theoretical at this stage, but between the stress of their duties it was impossible to fend off the weight of the past.

Neither Erestor nor Glorfindel got any more sleep that night.

* * *

Around an hour before dawn, Erestor took the executive decision to abandon all attempts at resting, sitting up and pushing away the covers. Glorfindel moved to rest a hand on his thigh.

"Clean up and get dressed, my Glorfindel," Erestor pressed a kiss to his nose before getting out of bed. "We will wish to complete our task before the household awakens."

"You go first. I'll just get stuff ready," Glorfindel slowly got up and started checking over his armour, even as Erestor walked through to the bathroom.

Erestor hid the night's tears with water and make-up, at least to the extent they could be mistaken for only the effects of an early morning. He stared at his reflection for a long time, practicing wiping the emotions from the night from it. Once satisfied that any elf but those closest to him would simply assume he had spent the night filling paperwork, he grabbed a hairbrush, filled two glasses with water and headed back into the bedroom.

Glorfindel was just pulling his tabard over his armour. Erestor set one of the glasses down beside him, downing his own as he searched for suitable robes.

His fingers lingered on one of his oldest items, red velvet so dark most mistook it for his usual black. In the end, however, he settled on his usual attire; four layers of black robes, each perfectly chosen to match the other. As he began brushing out his hair, Glorfindel collected his empty brush, taking it back through to the bathroom.

Two minutes later, Glorfindel reappeared, "Darling, where is the hairbrush?"

Erestor smiled over to his husband, waving it. He could feel the grin on his face.

"Is that an offer to brush mine as well I see?" Glorfindel smiled back.

"Only if you bring me the box of pins in the cupboard."

Just as Erestor finished detangling his hair, Glorfindel reappeared with the box of pins. With practiced motions, Erestor braided and pinned the first few locks of hairs, before offering the chair at the dressing table to Glorfindel. He ran his fingers through the beautiful golden locks, carefully gentle. Though he wore it long once again, unlike when they had known one another in Lindon, Glorfindel was still very sensitive about who touched his hair. It was an awful shame, but Erestor could not say he was not proud to be one of those few who could.

"Anything special, or just out of the way?" Erestor began to brush, envious of how hard it was to tangle.

"Just out of the way. We don't have much time left," Glorfindel's eyes flickered to the window.

That was probably true. Erestor frowned lightly; their duties stealing his Glorfindel away once again. At least this morning was warm. Silently, he brushed the hair, braiding and pinning it that it would be hard to grab if things came to a fight. Because of course the Captain of the Guard had to be ever prepared for a fight. Especially when escorting their latest guest around.

When all was finished, Erestor stepped back and allowed Glorfindel to test the braids.

"Thank you," once satisfied, Glorfindel too Erestor's hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Come, let us go retrieve your errant Lord."

"My Lord Elrond's wish is my only command," Erestor smiled sweetly towards his husband, words as serious as he could possibly make them sound.

"Yes, and my hair is Feanorian red."

"Evidently."

Erestor stepped out unarmed and without even one bundle of paperwork. A moment later, he doubled back, grabbing a set of scrolls from his desk and clutching them closely to his chest. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow as he strapped on his sword belt and his shield over his back.A question began to shape on his lips, but Erestor shook his head in answer; no need to answer that question now. Glorfindel gestured for him to head out first. Taking a small breath, Erestor settled his face into one of absolute normality, and slipped out.

* * *

The hallways had been almost entirely deserted. Erestor hoped they would remain that way; things had only been announced in the most general terms. Shifting the weight of the scrolls in his arms, he raised a hand and knocked on Maglor's door twice. Glorfindel was talking quietly to the guards, likely updating them on the situation. Erestor ignored them, pursing his lips when he heard movement but no reply. He did not appreciate being ignored, even if the one ignoring him were his superior.

Without knocking a second time, he pushed open the door and strode inside. Behind him, he left the door open.

"Good morning, Lord Makalaure," Erestor gave a slight bow to the elf on the bed, running a quick assessment of his state as he strode inside and over to the curtains.

Maglor had still not formed an actual sentence. Whilst waiting for him to do so, Erestor pulled open the curtains - still dark out, but then it was that time of year - and looked around for something else to do.

Scrolls balanced on his hip and supported by a single hand, he arranged an outfit and laid it out over the bedsheets. Inevitably it would be crumpled by Maglor getting out of bed, but it would do. He mixed the reds of the House of Feanor with the blues of he knew Maglor preferred, all formed of gifts from various loyalist Noldor. A critical eye suggested they would be too big - Maglor was painfully frail - but it was better than sick-room robes if they were to be crossing the House.

"I am not a personal assistant. But seeing as you appear to be struggling this morning, I shall of course assist," Erestor made careful eye contact with Maglor as he spoke, using it to avoid looking at the features still showing lingering signs of illness and starvation.

"I do not wish for company," Maglor whispered, finally getting control of himself. "Please leave."

"My Lord Elrond commands me otherwise. You are deemed well enough to be moved to a guest room, and he has requested I have see this completed," Erestor looked down his nose at his former Lord. He almost felt bad about it, but it was gentle enough revenge. "Therefore, it will be done. I will give you five minutes whilst I speak to your escort. If you are still unwilling by then, I suppose the guards can carry you."

Maglor paled slightly, "Erestor…?"

"Oh so you do remember me," Erestor had wondered about that., and kept his voice vaguely irritated. "Then you should also remember that I will not fail a direct order from my Lord."

"I am not…" Maglor trailed off, looking slightly helpless. "I do not wish to hurt you. Not again."

"My Lord Elrond has commanded me, and so I will act. Ever and always," Erestor's voice was gentler this time. "Now, my orders are to see you moved to other accomodations. I can leave you to dress and ready yourself, I can assist you with such things, or you can cross Imladris in nothing but a medical gown. If need be, I will summon someone to carry you."

The expression on Maglor's face was entirely lost. Sighing, Erestor decided to take pity on him; normality was apparently a little more intense than he could yet deal with, whatever Elrond had said.

"I have checked with the healers, and know that you are able. We are getting you dressed, and you are moving into the rooms which have been prepared for you, and we will be done in time for my Lord Elrond to meet you in your rooms for breakfast. Now, if you stand up, I will assist."

"Child…"

"Chief Counsellor. Master Erestor. Lord's-Consort of the House of the Golden Flower. Make your choice, but I am not a child," Erestor frowned, the only movement his slightly narrowed eyes.

Maglor gave him a small, frightfully sad smile, "you have done well for yourself."

"Indeed. Most of us, those who survived at least, have been getting on with our lives for the last age and a half, not wasting away lamenting our crimes while the world falls to ruin around our ears," as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Erestor regretted them. And especially regretted the tone.

Yet, Maglor laughed.

An actual, genuine laugh, with only the slightest flavour of hysteria.

It took Erestor a whole second and a half to recollect himself, by which point the laughter was over. Still, he continued to stare. It was not long before it became a staring contest between the two of them, ending in Erestor's favour when Maglor looked nervously away.

"What would you bid me do?" he whispered.

"Firstly, stand up," Erestor was mildly uncomfortable with ordering Lord Makalaure around, but if nobody else was going to make him take care of himself he supposed he could. The elf obviously needed it; within moments of the order being given, Maglor hesitantly got to his feet. He shivered when his bare feet touched the stone floor, pulling the loose robe the healers had given him close.

"There are slippers over there," Erestor pointed. "Put them on. You remember how to do that, yes?"

Whilst Maglor silently followed the order, Erestor unbuttoned the under-robe; Maglor's hands were still thickly bandaged. Without further hesitation, Erestor helped the Lord dress. It had been many years since such things were his job, but he had some practice with dressing his Glorfindel after injuries. There was a hiss of pain every time his hands were brushed, but thankfully they were the only injuries that remained. The healing rates of the high-elven were indeed to be envied.

Once they were done, Maglor sat back on the bed as Erestor regathered his paperwork. The silence was uncomfortable; all his adolescence, Erestor had never heard silence from Maglor. Always there had been a humming or a tune or tapping his feet in some sort of rhythm. Now he heard nothing. He turned, checking that the Lord was even still there.

Maglor looked utterly lost. He picked at the seams in the sleeves, and stared blankly in a random direction. 

Gently, Erestor took his hand. Maglor shook his head, then looked up with n unspoken question on his lips. Neither elf made comment about how tightly he squeezed the hand back.

"Come. I will introduce you to our escort."

Erestor only let go of one of Maglor's hands as he stood and made his way to the door, forcing the Lord to follow him. In the corridor, they found only Glorfindel, the other guards having been dismissed from their posts.

"My Glorfindel, may I present Lord-Prince Maglor of the House of Feanor, liege of my father's House. Lord Makalaure, may I present my husband, Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, Captain of the Guard of Imladris, our escort."

Glorfindel gave Maglor a short bow. Maglor stared at him for a long moment, before giving an almost cheerful sigh, "I see I am dead after all."

"Unfortunately for yourself," Erestor maintained his tone, however much the words concerned him. "My Glorfindel is merely one reborn and sent back by the Valar to protect my Lord Elrond."

Maglor considered these words for a long moment, seeming to weigh them up. He frowned slightly, pursing his lips, but did not speak further. Even as Glorfindel attempted to engage him in conversation.

When it failed, Glorfindel threw Erestor a concerned look. Considering the expression of deep thought on the Lord's face, Erestor instead engaged his husband in conversation concerning the paperwork he had grabbed from the desk. He did not need the second opinions, but it was polite to ask, and he did not only marry his Glorfindel for his ass.

Though it was a mighty fine ass.

* * *

The trip to the family quarters was both quicker and more infuriating than Erestor had expected. Every corridor or so they would have to stop and take a break for the sake of Maglor's health, yet he did not ask to do so, and insisted on when walking doing it at a full pace. If he had just listened to his advice, then their pace would have been constant and he would not be sat in one of the armchairs by the fire trying not to throw up.

But since when had one of the Valar-damned Feanorians ever listened to advice?

Glorfindel was stood at the fireplace preparing some tea, whilst Erestor sat at the desk in the office of the suite with his paperwork. Elrond would expect them to give Maglor a tour around his quarters, but he was in no state to actually take the information in. So instead, Erestor was stuck in these rooms, once again thankful that he had grabbed a bundle of scrolls. His current issue was how to politely tell Lady Galadriel that it was likely a bad time to visit, no matter how desperate she was for vengeance upon her errant half-cousin - especially difficult as he suspected she had left before sending the message.

Across the room, Erestor could hear Glorfindel telling Maglor stories about antics the younger Lords and Lady had gotten up to as children. Looking across, he saw puzzlement beneath the nausea on Maglor's face. When it only grew more obvious over time, Erestor set aside his quill and set his chin on clasped hands as he watched. 

After a few long moments, Maglor finally seemed to notice the look he was being given. In his mind, Erestor imagined he must look very like his father. In that light, he raised an eyebrow. Maglor shook his head ever so slightly, then turned to Glorfindel and glared at the cup he was offered. When his glare moved up to Glorfindel's face, he was presented with a straw.

"I am not..." Maglor's voice was both offended and tired.

"Would you we get a funnel and pour it into your throat?" Glorfindel's tone was light.

"... Fine."

Glorfindel sat the cup of tea down on the arm of the chair, and balanced the straw in it. Maglor used the backs of his hands to keep it in position as he drank. Glorfindel came and placed another cup on the desk Erestor has claimed for his own. He then took the other chair by the fire, and drank his own cup.

By the time Maglor looked up again, Erestor was still staring at him. Maglor was once a master of ignoring looks, but had even longer been a master of twisting words to his own purposes. Erestor could wait for him to crack; it was not even quite dawn yet.

He cracked about the time Glorfindel left the room, searching of somewhere to wash up their cups. When he did so, Erestor was still waiting.

"I have a question," Erestor had to credit Maglor; his voice showed none of the nervousness that was so evident in his posture.

"I know," he replied. "I have been waiting for you to ask for the last half an hour."

"Celebrian? She is Elrond's wife, I presume?" the uncertainty in Maglor's tone was curious.

"Yes." Oh, Eru this was not a conversation Erestor was equipped for.

"I have met his sons and been told of his daughter; who is she, and where is she?"

Erestor thought his self-control astounding that one whom had contributed to his education, even if they were injured and spiritually wounded, did not notice the way he froze, "My Lord Elrond truly has not told you?"

"No," there was the distinct impression that, if Maglor's hands were not wrapped in two inches of bandages, he would be swirling a finger in his tea. The second finger of his left hand, specifically.

"I will not tell you of everything, for it is not my place to do so," Erestor spoke very slowly. His own heart shuddered with the memory of his Lady and how she had returned to them. His words were considered very carefully, perfected before he spoke again. Maybe, just maybe, if he left enough tidbits,... Yes, that could possibly work. "However, my Lady Celebrian is the daughter of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien. Around seventy years ago she sailed West; her leaving was a cause of great grief for this household, and was itself driven by a grief from which she could not recover in these lands."

"And I suppose you will not tell me the cause of that grief?" there was a hint of challenge in the question, and that in itself was pleasing to hear. Some tone at all.

"No," Erestor kept his voice toneless. He was certain he could explain, that Elrond would thank him for taking the conversation away from him even, but it would not do anyone any good. "Not other than that it was the work of Sauron... If you wish to know the details, it would be best you ask my Lord Elrond or his children."

Maglor was about to make a response when Glorfindel returned with a cleaned tea set. So instead Erestor stood carefully, and smiled, "now, if you have rested sufficiently, we should show you your way around your quarters?"

He did not wait for a reply before beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! And a sort-of early Happy Hallowe'en!


	10. Elrohir: A Not Quite Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir realises a problem and makes a plan to fix it. Unfortunatly, everything comes to a head a little bit too quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple instances of the PoV character experiencing flashbacks in this chapter, also a panic attack, and someone self-inflicting pain as a grounding technique. If these are likely to cause you problems it is probably better just to skip it; there's a summary in the endnotes if you need to, and everything will sort of be recapped next chapter by a different character. Half of the reason this took so long is because writing whilst housebound is hell, and half because I was really uncertain I could pull this off. Still am, tbh, but the bullet must be bitten for the plot to move on.
> 
> I shall continue to be slow at least until January - Christmas is not a good time.

Elrohir sat in a tree at the bottom of one of the many waterfalls of Imladris, reading. Elladan swam in the pool it formed, his clothing and a towel waiting beneath Elrohir's tree. It was only a little after lunch; the twins had been banished from the House for the day, in the hopes of allowing Maglor to settle into his new rooms 'without the uproar that always follows behind the two of you'.

Listening to the sounds of his brother splashing and practicing his diving, he flipped over the page to the next chapter. It was another piece of mortal literature, but a simple one; a story of a girl trying to rescue her brother from some sort of extra-dimensional king of monsters. Purely fictional, but he was enjoying it anyway. A part of him hoped that Elladan or Arwen would do the same for him if need be; he certainly would do it for them. Now that he thought about it, the protagonist did remind him an awful lot of his younger sister...

One and a half chapters later, Elrohir became very aware of the fact that Elladan had gone quiet. Mildly concerned, he folded over the corner of the page - Erestor could be upset with him about it later if he wanted - and peered down. Elladan was floating on the water, close to the bank, and gazing up at him. Noticing Elrohir watching, he stuck out his tongue. 

"Yes, Dan?" Elrohir stuck out his tongue in retur; just his brother trying to get his attention.

"I find myself bored. Do you wish to go find some orcs? We can be back by evening." Elladan used the same tone as someone simply commenting on the weather, but starred up with wide and bright eyes.

Elrohir froze. How... No, he could not, would not; the sword fell towards him again. Elladan moved into the way. Elladan took the hit for him. Elladan-

"Alright. No it is. How is your book?"

Elrohir's mind snapped back to reality, blinking down at his twin, confusion filling his mind. It took him a few minutes to respond, yet Elladan was still waiting when he did. Gazing up at him with those so very familiar grey eyes. His smile was weak as he did so, but Elrohir explained the plot to his twin. He was unusually attentive to what Elrohir had to say, and he had to wonder why that was.

Soon enough, the smile on his face no longer needed forcing.

* * *

A week later, and they were on the training field again. Glorfindel insisted on it, every morning. 

It did not take Elrohir long to work out that he was particularly agitated this morning, or the cause of it - it would be Maglor's fault. Still, he was inclined towards playing the part of a good and attentive student. Elladan, meanwhile, fidgeted even more than usual. Whether to wind Glorfindel up further, to present some normality to the situation, or because he truly was infuriated Elrohir could not quite discern. Most likely, some combination of the above.

"But Glorfindel, we know this," Elladan whined. "Can you not teach us whatever new thing we need, then let us be on our way?"

Elrohir froze once more, alert enough to notice Glorfindel's momentary and hidden glance over to him. Elladan, however, seemed not to notice. He shook his head a little in reply to their weapons tutor; do not let my brother leave yet. They were not words he would say aloud - he would not get his twin into trouble for wanting revenge or exploration - but the very idea of it sat like a rock in his stomach. Who knew what would be waiting for them beyond the safety of their father's influence? Logically, he knew that it was no more or less dangerous than any other time he had been out, if he were to do so again, but... The image of death rushing towards him filled his mind, staring it in the face and accepting it.

It had been so easy to accept death at the time, why was it no longer so?

Quietly, he took a deep breath. On the edges of his senses, he could hear Elladan and Glorfindel fighting over... Something. He focused on that, rather than the memory of the orc and the sword and the- breathe in, breathe out. Elladan had never taken a serious blow for him - had never both needed to and been close enough to do so. Those images were not his own, and foresight was not his gift.

He dug his fingers into his still tender shoulder; he grounded himself a little, but the thoughts came back. Take a deep breath, acknowledge the thoughts, move on... No, not helping. He needed... He wanted...

"Elladan? Elladan, could you-?" the words were more mouthed than whispered, tailing off with uncertainty as to what he was even asking. Within seconds his twin was with him, gently pulling his hands to his chest.

"Ro? What's wrong?" the concern in his twin's voice was almost suffocating. 

"Could we take the training slowly, please?" he kept his voice level, attempting to explain the problem if not the cause as calmly as he could. "I.. am not ready to go out again yet. Everything is still too near; I will not be able to fight properly, and you will get hurt for it."

He wondered how pale he must have looked, that Elladan gave in without the slightest disagreement. Instead, he received an apology and a hug. Elrohir hugged him back, hands tracing over the lines of Elladan's shoulders. He knew he had not heard the end of this - Elladan would not drop the topic after all - but maybe he would have a bit of time? Though... He knew he would never be ready if he tried to do it alone... He could not really speak to father, not when he was so frail himself, and Elladan would try to help while inevitably making things worse... There were others, though. But which other would be best? 

Silently, he resolved to speak with him; the other elf had actually died, not just nearly died, yet he still went out to fight. He would have some idea what to do. And if there was one thing he could trust Glorfindel to never do, it was judge. Given everything, Elrohir would not be surprised if Glorfindel already suspected.

Indeed, when he looked up Elrohir found Glorfindel to be watching them. Having stepped away for a few moments earlier, he was now carrying a tray with water and snacks. Noticing the attention, the Lord smiled slightly and he cleared his throat, "I feel now is as good a time as any for a break? Seeing are you appear to already be taking one"

Elladan looked up to see what Glorfindel was carrying, breaking into a huge grin. "Honeycakes? My Lord, you are my favourite person!"

"Even if I am making you practice the basics?" Glorfindel teased.

"I mean if we get honeycakes for it... You should just have mentioned that!" Elladan grabbed one of the treats. The normality of the exchange was reassuring.

Elrohir opened his mouth to laugh at his brother. In a flash, Elladan shoved the bun into it. Elrohir poured a glass of water, poured it over his brother's head in return, then ran off with the bun. Soon enough, their 'break' had become a wild game of chasing and tackling one another to the ground. Glorfindel sat, sipping his water and laughing at the two of them.

This evening. Elrohir would speak to him this evening.

He just needed to hold it together until then.

* * *

He did not make it to that evening. One of the problems with having a twin who never left you alone was that, well, you had a twin who never left you alone. Especially when he wanted something.

Elrohir knew that his brother needed the forests and to be a part of them, in a way indicative of their Silvan blood. The fact that Elladan was trying to get out of the valley was not the problem - well, it was, but not most of it. Just, Elrohir did not have the same compulsion. The driving anger towards what the enemy had done to their mother, yes, a need for vengeance, absolutely, but not any sort of craving to be within nature. That was Elladan's thing. 

Even if he wanted to, he would not have taken it from his twin.

Still, Elladan wanted to leave and Elladan wanted Elrohir to come too, and Elrohir was unwilling (or unable) to. For some reason, Elladan seemed to have convinced himself that, despite all signs to the contrary, if he just continued asking, eventually Elrohir would agree. Despite that morning. Despite his attempts to explain. Despite everything.

Which rather left them in the situation they were in now. 

All Elrohir wanted to do was return a book he had borrowed to the library. It was a simple enough task - just pick up the book, walk to the library, hand the book to whomever was on duty. Elladan, though, seemed to be making things more difficult than need be. He tailed along beside him, constantly talking. About leaving Imladris again.

"So when will you be ready to leave?" it was a reasonable enough question, or would have been if he had not been being asked it for the last hour.

"I do not know, Elladan. I shall let you know once I do; you can go without me, you know." He tried to keep his tone light, even as the fear crept back in.

"What about we just go a little bit into the forest? To that waterfall you like. There won't be anything there."

The attempt was almost appreciated, but the idea of leaving still made his stomach churn. Trying his best to ignore it - Glorfindel would know what to do, or at least who to talk to, or something. Glorfindel... Did not know everything, but he would try to help. Elrohir shook his head and entered into the library.

Elladan, of course, followed him. 

"Look, I know you're upset, but we cannot stay here forever. It'll be fine - I'll protect you. It's what older brothers do."

"Please could you stop." Elrohir did not look at his brother, placing the book on the desk and awaiting the librarian to return from... Wherever they went. Their office, most likely. The idea of Elladan protecting him with his life was pushed violently aside.

"Oh, come on 'Ro. Just a little trip into the forest?" the whine in his tone was really starting to grate. 

Elrohir could feel himself starting to panic. Still, he took a deep breath, and tried to gain a few more moments of peace, "Elladan. Shut up."

"It'll be fine."

No, no it wouldn't. Elrohir could feel his breathing break into tiny gasps, blood filling his ears. It was not quite an instant process; he clamped his hands over his ears, sound splitting his head, shut his eyes and tried to maintain control. The librarian spoke quietly, asking if they were both alright - Elrohir could not remember from where she had appeared, but tried to focus on that.

"Shit, 'Ro, sorry, I-" 

Elladan's words forced tears out of Elrohir's eyes. Ones of fear and anger and pain. He couldn't, couldn't, he needed space, needed quiet, why was someone coming closer? Why was he still talking? Why couldn't he just be quiet!

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

A moment later Elladan was sprawled on the ground, clutching his nose. The librarian ran forward, but hesitated a few steps away.

Horrified, Elrohir stared at his fist. What... What had he done?

"Elrohir!"

He could not tell whose voice it was, what emotion it held, where it came from. He looked up. Erestor was crouched at Elladan's side, Glorfindel was standing between the twins. Why was Glorfindel between them? Why had that happened? When-

There was blood on Elladan's face. 

He took a few stumbling steps backwards. People were saying things, but Elrohir could not make sense of the words. The words made no sense, swirling meaninglessly in his head. Why did he not understand the words? What was going on? Why- Oh, Eru, he hit Elladan. He made Elladan bleed. Elladan... Dan was going to hate him. 

He heard someone say his name again, another meaningless emotion in their words.

Elrohir bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Elladan tries to convince Elrohir to leave Imladris with him. Over time these attempts get more insistant, until Elrohir panics, punches his brother when he comes too close, and flees.


	11. Glorfindel: Picking Up Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel has many powers, but being in two places at once is not one of them. At least he has backup, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit bitty, but also its been 3 months and I've read it over so much words are now meaningless. Also sorry about that - things happened and writing is now very painful, but still fun. Hopefully the next bit will be quicker.
> 
> Warnings for lots of crying and hugging. Like 300% of the hugging intended. And infinitly more sobbing.

"Elrohir!"

Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a glance. It lasted less than a moment before Erestor put the tomes in his arms on the floor and stood. At a pace not quite a run but certainly fast enough to draw attention, he left in a swishing of red-black robes. 

Meanwhile, Glorfindel turned to the muttering, assembling, gossiping crowd of elves forming nearby. The head librarian seemed to be attempting to disperse them already, though the softly spoken ellon was struggling. 

Whilst his husband Glorfindel was not,he was an elven-lord of stature and renown. With slightly more effort than Erestor would have needed, he pulled himself to his full height, positioned himself between the crying Elladan and the gathered observers, and morphed his face into a scowl of displeasure.

"Do you not have somewhere to be?" he only raised his voice a fraction, but still the crowd fell silent.

With a hidden sigh and neutral expression, Glorfindel took the ribbon from around his wrist and pulled back his hair. By the time he had finished the leisurely creation of a pony tail, most of the elves around had made muted excuses and dispersed. He shook his head, and noticed a young scribe still hovering nearby.

"Yes?" he narrowed his glare onto the single elf.

"I-" the scribe whose name Erestor would surely know, but whom Glorfindel had only ever seen in passing, stuttered a little as blue eyes fixed their gaze on him. "Do you need anything, sir?"

Glorfindel had been about to refuse, before the fact Elladan was still crying that gave him reason to pause. "Go on ahead and inform the healers on duty what has happened; I will bring the Young Lord down shortly."

The addressed scampered ahead, whilst Glorfindel moved until he was knelt in front of Elladan. The relief as Elladan looked up at him with tear-stained eyes, even if he suppressed the sobs when faced with eye contact, was palatable.

"Let me see," Glorfindel softened his tone, but left no room for hesitation.

Elladan hesitantly moved his hands away from his nose. Clearly telegraphing his movements, Glorfindel made an initial assessment of the injury; he was no healer, but had seen more than enough in his time. He did not touch it, simply trying to work out if just walking Elladan down to the healing rooms would be safe. 

"I- I didn't mean to," the tears broke forth again. "I just-"

"Elladan..." Glorfindel sighed, heart twisting at the sobbing Lordling. He opened his arms, gesturing to him, "come here."

Elladan almost threw himself at Glorfindel, trapping him in a desperate hug. Unable to prevent a slight chuckle at the release of tension, Glorfindel wrapped his arms around his Lord's son. They remained like that until Elladan's tears dried, at which point, Glorfindel tried to detangle himself. Elladan just clung harder.

"We need to get someone to check your nose," Glorfindel gently prompted. "Which means we need to move."

When he pulled away, Elladan was pouting. He was quickly handed a handkerchief, and told to not blow his nose but to clean his face a little. When his nose began bleeding again, Elladan held it up to catch the blood. Once that was achieved, the tw progressed downstairs in silence; Glorfindel attempted to begin a conversation once or twice, but found himself missing the words for it. Instead he very carefully rested an arm across Elladan's back, both a reassurance and a guidance in direction.

They crossed paths with the scribe turned messenger as he returned to work. Glorfindel offered his thanks, and a minute or so later they arrived at the healing rooms.

It was the more junior of the two duty healers who met them, though the senior kept half an eye over things from where he was preparing medicines to restock their supplies. 

"My Lords," the healer bowed, every part of his person reeking of nervous professionalism. "Heledirion started a head injury?"

"My brother broke my nose," Elladan mumbled from behind the handkerchief, looking both pitiful and irritated.

The healer paused a moment, uncertain.

"Just a little spat; tempers and siblings," Glorfindel smiled the concern away. "Though once injuries have been seen to Master Erestor and I shall be having words with them and their father."

Even without seeing his lips one could tell Elladan grimaced in response.

"Very well... If you would take a seat over there," the healer turned from the matter and pointed to a chair. 

Whilst the examination took place, Glorfindel perched on a nearby stool. His attention remained affixed on the healer's words to Elladan - a summary of the situation and an explanation of what was occuring. Near the end, Devedis scurried inside. When Glorfindel looked at her she had the sense to look vaguely sheepish, though she hovered at Elladan's side as the healer set his nose. 

Once the healer was finished, she immediately launched into speaking, "'Dan! I heard you were hurt - is everything okay?" she looked a moment. "Did you run into another tree?"

That finally earnt a laugh from Elladan, "no, no. Elrohir just decided to check my ability to spot an ambush."

"And he's not here because...?"

"Because the two of them are in trouble for getting blood in the library carpet," Glorfindel kept his tone light as he answered the question for her.

"Oh, Valar, you're fucked," Devedis was evidently trying not to laugh. “You know what they are like with the _library_  carpets.”

"It'll be fine. Erestor couldn't hurt us if he wanted to."

Glorfindel, noting that the Elladan would probably be better seen to emotionally by one of his friends, started to get up, "speaking of Erestor, I should be meeting with him. You two stay out of trouble; Elladan, expect summons soon."

"Thank you," Elladan's tone was less bright, more serious when he spoke again. 

Glorfindel nodded his acknowledgement, knowing it not to be for the warning of summons, and slipped out of the door. 

Not being certain where Erestor had chased Elrohir to, Glorfindel instead returned to his office. Trying to suppress his worry about the twins, he headed to the guardhouse and picked back up the paperwork he had been completing prior to his break.

Whilst the fact his break had been interrupted was irritating, he could not help but be more concerned for the twins; the twins, as a rule, did not just fight. And when they did, it was bitter and cruel.

Yet this seemed neither.

Still, it had been a bad time to press Elladan for answers; he was still too strung through with guilt and anxiety to get actual answers...

Knowing it would do no help, Glorfindel gently pushed the thoughts away and refocused on his work.

Not even one form later, there was a nudge at the back of Glorfindel's mind. It was familiar, his husband asking permission to enter. Without a second though, he constructed a temporary hole in his shields.

The message was one of concepts, rather than words; Elrohir, safety, distress, caution, promise-of-later-words, Elladan, question.

Glorfindel thought his thanks at Erestor then, as one more skilled in osanwe, gave the reply in words, " _A broken nose, but nothing lasting. He's with his friends. I'll come find you?_ "

The sensation of movement, then a familiar sensation that Glorfindel had learnt to be Erestor's association with the small office-space attached to their rooms. 

" _I'll see you there shortly_."

There was a hesitation in Erestor, before all consuming affection overwhelmed.

Glorfindel smiled, returned the his own affection and gently pushed Erestor out of his mind. He set the paperwork aside, informed his second that he was incharge for the rest of the day, and set off towards his rooms.

And if on the way to his rooms he stopped by the kitchens for tea and cake, well, it was only to make the conversation easier.

* * *

A short while later, Glorfindel knocked on the door to the office in his and Erestor's rooms, the tray left in their sitting room. It took less than a moment for his husband to let him inside. Elrohir was sat on the desk chair next to the fire, wrapped tightly in a blanket and sipping a cup of some sort of tea. His eyes widened with fear as he spied Glorfindel, hands tightening but remaining steady. Glorfindel gave Erestor a quick peck on the cheek - a setting of tone for the conversation that would hopefully lessen Elrohir’s increasing panic - before turning to his Lord's son.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Elrohir shrugged, then paused, then nodded. Even if he pulled the blanket tighter as he did so.

"I would suggest we remove to the sitting room, where we might all sit," Erestor's face would have looked expressionless to most, but Glorfindel would read the speckling of concern and affection in his eyes and tone.

Elrohir relaxed significantly at the offer. Glorfindel offered him a small smile, trying to assure him nothing untoward would occur.

"A wonderful idea," he said instead. "Shall we?"

The three of them moved to the much more comfortable sitting room. With a little prompting Elrohir took one of the wingback chairs by the fire. Erestor took the other, and Glorfindel passed around tea and biscuits before taking up an intentionally relaxed position on the couch.

"Firstly, Elladan will be fine. He has a broken nose, but no indications of more serious injury. I left him with Devedis, and I am sure they are already plotting something," Glorfindel paused, weighing up his options. On reflection, he left it there.

Elrohir nodded, still looking at the floor. He held the tea in his hands, but had not touched it. Erestor's eyes met Glorfindel's over his teacup. A moment later, the advisor spoke, "Would you be willing to tell us what happened, my Lord?"

"I punched Elladan," Elrohir murmured, the words soaking with regret and disbelief at his own actions.

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just happened."

Glorfindel though for a moment, running through various scenarios, "what was he saying beforehand?"

"He wanted me to go outside," Elrohir frowned a little harder. "I... Am scared."

The information offered without prompting was a form of progress, at least.

"Of going outside?" Glorfindel checked for clarification.

Elrohir nodded, and tears became visible on his face. Glorfindel shared a look with Erestor once again, the latter then slipping from his chair to perch on the arm of Elrohir's and gently stroke over his hair.

The three of them sat quietly for a little while. Even once Elrohir calmed a little, Erestor stayed close.

"I am sorry," Elrohir whispered, voice broken. "I did not mean to..."

"We are not who needs to hear that," Glorfindel spoke as gently as he possibly could. 

"I... I do not want to hurt him, but he will not be quiet!" Elrohir's voice broke again as he looked up. "He just keeps talking about it! I want him to stop!"

Glorfindel's heart broke a fraction. He put aside his cup, standing and approaching to sit on the other arm of Elrohir's chair. Gently, he pulled Elrohir into a hug. Erestor slipped down behind, encircling them both.

"We will speak to him, my Lord," Erestor promised.

"Are you afraid of being hurt again?" Glorfindel asked, trying to connect the problems.

Elrohir shook his head.

"You worry about Lord Elladan being hurt," when Erestor spoke, it was anything but a question.

Elrohir nodded, then began to cry a little harder as he choked out words. "I do not know why... He was not hurt... But I am scared... I do not want to be... I want to go with him. I want to not be afraid. What if he sneaks out alone and gets hurt? What if next time the orcs find him first? What if they take him too? All I can think is what happens then..."

'Taken like their mother' were the words that came to Glorfindel's mind, holding Elrohir a little closer even if he did not speak them. Instead, he offered a more practical suggestion, "it will be well, little lord... Once his nose has healed, I will assign him some patrols. That should at least satisfy his need to go outside. We will know much more quickly if something goes wrong, and he will not be alone... Then, when you are ready to leave again, I will come with you at first. Alright?"

Elrohir sobbed again, curling and twisting his arms as though to cover his ears, "please... Make it go away. I do not want to be scared. I do not know how to stop it. Please... Please help me..."

"Of course," it was Erestor who spoke, as matter of factly as one could. "Of course we will help, my Little Lord."

"What do I do now?" Elrohir asked.

"Erestor will go speak with your father before he hears incorrect rumour from someone else, and you will rest a while," Glorfindel could almost taste the exhaustion the tears were causing Elrohir. "I will stay with you, and Erestor will then bring Elladan up here."

Elrohir nodded, already half asleep. Erestor left with pursed lips, whilst Glorfindel carried his charge over to the sofa. Once certain he would not slip, he then took up place by the fire and kept careful watch.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Erestor returned with Elladan in tow. Elrohir was still napping, and Glorfindel still watching from beside the fireplace. Elladan looked suitably sheepish, having no doubt received a level of scolding appropriate to how cheerful he had been when Erestor collected him. His nose was swollen and taped in a few places, but otherwise seemed little worse for wear. 

Without even asking, the elder of the twins came to kneel beside the couch. Gently, he brushed his brother's hair until he awoke.

"Good afternoon, sleepy," Elladan teased, voice bright.

Elrohir murmured unintelligibly, then looked at Elladan's nose and sat up frowning, "I am sorry I hit you."

"It will be fine in a little while... And, I am sorry I pushed you," Elladan replied, looking equally as uncomfortable and genuinely apologetic.

The twins were quiet for a few moments before Elrohir threw himself at his brother, engulfing him into a hug, "please - please do not go off alone... Do not leave me in Middle Earth alone..."

"Hey," Glorfindel could almost see the realisation click in Elladan's eyes as he spoke. "Hey, 'Ro? Look at me?"

Elrohir shifted so he could see his brother properly.

"I will not leave you. I promise... You are my brother. You are my twin. I will not leave you."

The tears turned into sniffles, "Ada's twin left him... Ada still hurts..."

"We will make our choice together... I will not make it without consulting you..." Elladan promised. "I will not leave you, so long as you need me..."

"What if you get hurt? What if you die out there?"

Elladan did not seem to have an answer to that, hugging his brother tighter instead. After a short while, they began whispering very quietly to one another. Sensing they were not wanted, Erestor and Glorfindel moved away. Still remaining quiet to not disturb the twins, Glorfindel found a deck of cards and dealt out a game for the two of them. Soon enough, Elladan and Elrohir appeared. No words were exchanged, but both were dealt in; the game worked better with more than two.

Eventually, they were disturbed by a knock on the door. The twins pulled away from one another, and Glorfindel went to answer the door.

"My Lords?" the door opened to reveal one of Imladris' guards, now standing to attention in the doorway and doing his very best not to stare at Elladan's taped nose. "Ladies Galadriel and Arwen, along with their retinue, have crossed into out territory. There are no injuries to report and they should be here by sundown."

"Thank you. You may return to your station," Glorfindel dismissed the guard, who bowed and departed, before sharing a long look with Erestor.

Erestor nodded, "I will inform our Lord Elrond. May I suggest you all be prepared for a formal dinner this evening?"

"So not my gardening robes, then?" Glorfindel's comment earnt a giggle from one of the twins, and an exasperated glance from his husband as he made his way to the office.

Glorfindel then turned to look at his lord's twins, "I will ride out and greet your grandmother. /Please/ make sure you are ready by the time they get here."

The memory of Lady Galadriel's last visit, when the twins had been nowhere near prepared to receive her despite multiple days of notice, echoed in Glorfindel's mind. She had not been too upset, but both he and Erestor had been embarrassed on their behalf. The twins, shameless as they always were, still did not see the problem with greeting their grandmother in soot-stained nightrobes.

He was too busy recalling the embarrassment to fully register the silent exchange the twins were having. It was Elrohir who nodded last, shifting a little and clearing his throat, "Glorfindel..."

Glorfindel knew that whine. He raised an eyebrow.

"Could we ride out to meet our sister with you?"

That was... Not the request he had expected. He glanced between the twins, Elladan looking more nervous than his twin. "You do not have to push yourself, Elrohir," Glorfindel confirmed. "We will work on it at your own pace. Given this morning, I would advise against it."

Elrohir shook his head, looking a little more certain, not even looking to Elladan for reassurance, "I want to come. But we will stay on the paths, we take an escort and Elladan is not allowed off the main road either."

“Are you sure you will be alright?”

“You said to say when I was ready. I want to do it now,” Elrohir was 

Glorfindel took long moments considering these options. It did appear that Elrohir was genuinely asking, though anxiety about the situation was still clear in his eyes and posture. And at best it was stubbornness talking. Certainly, with how badly he had reacted to the mere suggestion just earlier in the day, it was unlikely this would go well. The chances of someone being distracted or hurt was high… Though not as high as it could be; everything was known and safe and patrolled, so it may be the ideal situation to prove to Elrohir why he should not push... Maybe it would be better to deal with that away from the majority of the population... And Galadriel would be there. This way, she could fuss as she wanted, and be ready to look proper by the time they arrived. It appeared the young Lord was giving himself means to feel in control of the situation - just so long as Elladan did not decide to be adventurous. That seemed unlikely enough given the broken nose... Caution advised against it - it had only been a few hours - but caution was not exactly one of Glorfindel's defining character traits.

And nobody was there to stop him.

"Alright. Clean up, wear your nice armour and meet me at the stables in half an hour. I'll arrange the escort, and do not expect this from saving you from stable cleaning duty," he finally agreed, speaking slowly and watching for the reaction of both of the twins.

The shared grins on their faces made him ever so slightly more nervous about his agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Galadriel arrives and we return to the A plot. 
> 
> Sorry again about how long this took. Also there *might* be some prequel oneshots not the full prequel appear sometime soon. Maybe. If I decide I like them.


	12. Maglor: Cousin Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel would like a little chat. Maglor complies, more or less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The begininning is a little messy, but it just would not fix and I was fed up with it. Warnings for Maglor being Maglor, and also moreso than usual this *is* from a specific PoV. What he thinks, especially about emotions, is not necessarily accurate, and so some of the characterisation looks warped.

Maglor had been left in the garden with Erestor and a handful of guards, under very strict instruction that Elrond  _ would  _ greet Lady Galadriel, explain the situation, and then they would have a family afternoon tea. She would probably stab him first, or shoot him, or break his nose… 

The silence was silent, but it seemed a carefree sort of silence. A nice sort. It reminded Maglor of silences in the Gap with his steward, Erestor’s father. He was busy composing music in his head, tapping out the rhythms onto the table, while Erestor was sorted through his Lord’s paperwork.

The familiarity, if nothing else, was reassuring and calmed his mind.

Around the time Maglor was content with the opening few bars for the eleventh time, Elrond appeared with his mud-soaked sons, the partially muddled Lord Glorfindel, and two ladies in pristine white - Galadriel and another. 

Galadriel said nothing, but her eyes bored into Maglor's skull. 

The other lady, dark haired and peredhel, stepped forward. Elenwë - she looked like a black haired Elenwë.

“Atto? May I present Arwen, my daughter.”

“It is lovely to meet you,” not-Elenwë gave a polite curtsey. “Adar speaks very highly of you indeed.”

Why would Elrond do that? He had- No nevermind. Maglor bowed to her; Galadriel’s eyes turned amused. But not her lips. Never her lips. Arwen smiled pleasantly, before turning her attention back to her father.

People sat, and conversation happened around Maglor He bristled instead of partaking - watching everyone for threat to his son and grandchildren.

“My Lords, may I suggest that some baths may be in order?” Erestor placed his papers down harshly, in contradiction to the emotionless tone of his words. 

There was groaning and whining, mostly teasing and even from Lord Glorfindel, but eventually Erestor shooed his husband and the twins towards the bath-houses. Arwen added that she would appreciate one after her journey, and also slipped away.

Elrond’s eyes trailed after his children as they left, and Maglor’s heart twisted.

“Elrond,” Galadriel was smiling, but it was sad. Why was she smiling sad? Surely that was his job. “Go spend some time with your children; we can speak later.”

Elrond still hesitated - why? 

“Go, child, all will be well,” that was reassuring, surely. That was how he was supposed to speak.

But Elrond no longer just believed empty words, of course. He had heard too many in long, long ages - followed anyway. As he left, murmurings of him speaking to one of the guards just beyond the clearing could be heard. Galadriel sipped her tea, and they stared each other down

They were finally alone, the last of Finwë’s grandchildren. Galadriel’s face morphed into a distinct frown as her eyes burrowed into Maglor, and distinctly he knew she had wanted this. He frowned back at her; she was jamming her mind into his.

“So tell me, cousin,” her voice dripped venom. Hate. Just like he was supposed to have. That was reassuring almost. “Where have you been?”

Where had he been? Not here. He had not been here, not before. A stream, a pond - clean water. Orcs taking the water, pushed back out to sea. Before that, too, the sea.

He thought of the places and showed them to her in his mind. Galadriel frowned a little harder - he could not possibly imagine what exactly he had done wrong this time. Showing was easier than describing. He did not remember the way from there to here, or what was near there, or what was near here.

“I see,” she was dissatisfied with her discovery, but had found it nonetheless. Good? Maybe. Artanis was… “Tell me, Fëanorion, what do you know of what has happened?”

“Little,” he replied. With words this time, which was a distinct improvement. “Very little…”

Again she poked his mind. Irritation. He sent her irritation - she could ask first!

Galadriel laughed, but it was bitter and dry and she sounded almost as fractured as Maglor thought, “Do you want to know? Or would you rather remain in your peace and ignorance?”

Did he want to know? Did he? What good could come of it? But… Why was Elrond so sad? What happened to Elros? Elrond’s wife?  _ Little Tyelperinquar _ ?

The generalities he had been told, timelines listing when people died or left, but nobody would  _ explain  _ the details.

“Those are good questions,” Galadriel’s smile was thin, and she clicked her nails against the rim of her teacup a few times. It was off beat, and Maglor had the urge to correct her. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap- No, focus on her and what she says.

She spoke again, quietly, as though Maglor was not the one being addressed, and he barely heard her over the incessantly annoying click. “Yes, maybe…” tap tap “Maybe this will work…” her tone shifted as she looked back to Maglor, give one loud and deadened final beat on the cup as she does so. “Well then, I suppose it falls to me to be your history tutor today.”

Quicker than he could process, Galadriel pushed the small tray of cakes aside, leaning forward and staring directly at him as she began to talk through the happenings of the world.

Maglor recognised that she seemed unusually focused on things that happened to and near Elrond; maybe to torture him with just the horror the boy had existed through? That sounded like his half-cousin’s thinking… his infuriating, proud,  _ living  _ half-cousin.

She left no detail unspecified, describing everything in explicit detail, sometimes even pressing the imagine into his mind. From the beauty of her daughter’s wedding, to the marring of her flesh and the way she nearly faded away in Elrond’s arms; from how Celebrimbor did everything to  _ not _ fall into his grandfather’s crimes, only for the denial of his suspicions to lead to the doom of Middle Earth, his torture, his death, and the death of one he loved; from the heights of Numenor to its betrayal and fall; of the Greenwood and the Mirkwood and the necromancer in Dol Guldur.

All the while Maglor sat in silence, tears left to drop down his face. Drip, drip, drip... 

He refused, though. He would not, could not, refused to let history break him. Galadriel was angry, so angry, and he could  _ tell _ the details she gave, the not pausing for a break, was her attempts at revenge.

What else could it possibly be?

But in the end, that was not the first question he thought of when she asked if he had any. Not at all. It was stupid stupid stupid to ask, of course he knew the answer, but it spilled out anyway. 

Because all he could think of was that Celebrian was her daughter, the image of her mutilated body held together with thread dyed purple-black by the sterilization.

“Are you okay?”

Maglor could almost hear Galadriel freeze. Freeze solid. Freeze like a rock. Freeze like a cor-

“No,” she replied, looking him dead in the eye. It looked like the sensation of maggots burrowing around his eyes, “but I will survive. I have lost before, and I will lose more before the end.”

He pulled a face, prodding her with his confusion; why did she speak like the future already happened? She shook her head, and that was the end of that.

Maybe she listened to the themes as well.

“I had rather expected you to be more upset to hear all of this,” accusation dripped from her lips. Everything dripped form them, or maybe that was smeared lipstick?

“I knew my nephew was dead, and that it was cruel, though not the means. I knew Elros was dead by his choice,” he replied, having finally worked out a tune to her tapping and tapping it out on his own teacup. Imitation the highest form of flattery. Artanis always loved flattery. It was also a nice tune - tappity tap tap tappity tap tap tap tap tap tap- Tap out the confusion, keep the words sounding sane, keep focus there. “After them and my brothers, your brothers and our cousins, after watching Maedhros die…”

She gave him a more sympathetic smile that time, the accusation gone, “I have two questions left before I complete your judgement.”

Only two more questions? Of course she had been judging him, but that was not very many.

“Why are you here?”

“The boys dragged me here.”

“You could have left by now.”

There was no immediate answer to that; it had not really occurred to him. And even if he had… He thought of Elrond’s hands twisting desperately into his robes. Tears and fear and desperation to keep him safe, despite the danger to all. Elrond wanted him here. He could not say no to Elrond.

Before he could think further, he felt Galadriel’s almost amused, certainly pleased, presence observing his thoughts again. 

“And what would you do if I hurt Elrond?”

“I would kill you.”

He did not have to think to answer that.

Galadriel was very still and quiet for a few long moments, before reaching out and - PAIN. Pain, pain, pain, pain. 

Maglor yelled out, while she pulled a face and twisted her lips.

It took him a few moments to realise that she had dug her nails into the burns, and was now examining the ooze on her fingers. He curled protectively around the furtherly injured hand.

“The silmaril burnt your injuries into your fëa itself,” she announced it loudly as one of the guards ran in to see what the problem was. Maglor did not want the guard. He wanted to hide. Hide, hide, cradle the pain and hide. “They cannot heal until it does.”

It took long minutes before Maglor could catch his breath, let alone to process the information or reply. When he did, he looked down without really thinking, “then it is hopeless.”

“I did not say that,” she replied as she got to her feet and brushed off her dress. “They are better than they were, are they not?”

Yes? Yes, they were. It was not like when they had first burnt… And some of the skin was there, now… But what did she mean?

Why was Artanis always so awful?

He was about to question her further, ask why she had touched them so, why she needed his blood on her hands, when a second guard ran in. This one was breathless, stopping and leaning over as he did so. All three elves in the garden turned to look at him.

“My Lady, my Lord,” he finally managed to breathe, standing only to throw himself into a deep bow. Maglor wanted to laugh - he didn’t. “There has been an incident; I need you both to come with me.”


	13. Erestor: Political Overspill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond tries to do Glorfindel’s job, which somehow results in Erestor doing Glorfindel’s job. Because of course that makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes to you courtesy of about 50 quid worth of tea, a three months depressive episode, and my occupational therapist giving me a sticker chart for partaking in hobbies so I don’t accidentally kill myself with filing paperwork. This does not of course mean that I am entirely certain what it is up to, and it feels like it emotions wrong. Also apologies for how long it took.
> 
> ~Please check the updated tags~

The bathhouse was nearly empty in the middle of the day, so that is to where Elrond took his family. Erestor and his husband had followed along, partly because his Glorfindel needed to wash the mud his hair and partly because Erestor wanted to make sure that his Glorfindel relaxed. A servant had been sent to collect towels and fresh robes - or robes at all in the case of the armoured Glorfindel and twins - allowing people to sink into the water without too much concern.

Erestor, however, did not. It was not that he had any particular problem with undressing in this particular, socially appropriate, context, just it felt rather like one of them should be in a state to see to any problems that arose. Instead he perched near his Glorfindel’s head, a towel laid over his lap that he could assist his husband with his hair.

“Grandmother is very kind; she was teaching me about using using meditation to gather power and make more persuasive arguments,” Lady Arwen was happily talking as she permitted her father to gently wash her hair, her voice as light as the sun was bright. “Though she was frightfully unimpressed by Elladan and Elrohir deciding to mud wrestle.

In the next pool, the twins were quietly talking to each other, sneaking glances over from time to time. With the mention of their mud-wrestling, Elrohir stuck his tongue out at his sister. 

Erestor went to say something, but was interrupted by his Glorfindel’s hand coming to rest on his cheek, “shhh, my heart. Let them have some fun.”

He gave a sigh in response, pausing in his running of fingers through golden locks to ever do gently kiss his Glorfindel on the forehead. There was a chuckle in response, before the two of them settled into a happy silence.

It would be wrong to say that Erestor did not still want to correct Elrohir’s behaviour, but he supposed he may as well follow his Glorfindel’s request. This time.

Content as he was, he phased out all but his glorious husband. At least, until there was a shrieking scream from the Lady Arwen. Both he and his Glorfindel jumped, looking over with tension running through their veins.

Lord Elrohir appeared to have jumped from one pool to the over, knocking her under the water as his twin egged him on. A moment later she pulled away from her father’s lap with a cry of ‘I will get you for this!’ and pulled her brother down in response. A moment later, and she had also latched onto Lord Elladan’s ankle and dragged him from his perch on the thin path between each pool into the warm water.

Once satisfied that it truly was only the little ones playing, Erestor relaxed slightly. Once again, he began to run dexterous fingers through his Glorfindel’s hair. However, it seemed blue eyes were still distracted; following them, he spotted the heartbreakingly unfamiliar sight of his Lord Elrond suppressing his own laughter. 

“It is good to see him smile again,” his Glorfindel whispered up to Erestor.

“If you speak so loud, he may notice and cease,” Erestor teased as he returned to playing with his husband’s wet hair. For all it was teasing, they were both painfully aware of the actual fear in the words. It had been far, far too long, and his Lord almost seemed to feel guilty for smiling at times.

Well, maybe not almost… It would not be the most ridiculous theory that Erestor had seen proven true.

“I do not think he would be so inclined; it is only us afterall,” a little more tension fled from his Glorfindel’s body as practiced fingers massaged his scalp. “But, regardless, maybe I should just inform you of your incalculable beauty once more.”

“Hm…” Erestor began teasing a knot with his fingers, more than content. It was blatantly obvious as to what his Glorfindel was attempting, but he found himself in the mood to play along. “Says the elf renowned for his hair.”

Before his Glorfindel could make a response, the door slammed open. Everyone startled and looked up, as Deputy-Captain Avornion ran into the room. He glanced around, visibly relieved to see everyone who was gathered. Lord Glorfindel’s second sagged slightly against the doorframe, closing his eyes as he sighed a quiet ‘ _ praise Eru _ ’. Erestor immediately stood, small smile wiped and scowl back in place; Deputy-Captain Avornion was regularly not as formal as he should be, but to be acting this informally more than slightly out of character. Not to mention the door slamming.

“Deputy,” he gave the elf a very small incline of the head, even as his Glorfindel began pulling himself out of the bath.

It was a conscious effort not to look at his Glorfindel as he did so; Erestor tapped him foot a little, waiting for the report. The Sindarin elf seemed to be struggling, and it only heightened Erestor’s concern. Not wishing to display it, he narrowed his eyes instead.

By the time Deputy-Captain Avornion had caught his breath, Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond were both dry and half-dressed, the children slower but still copying their father.

“My Lord, my Lady, Master Erestor,” the deputy finally bowed to them. “I am very, very glad you are safe.”

“What is the danger, Avornion?” Erestor watched his Glorfindel buckle his belt into place, suddenly aware of the fact that none of them were armed with more than a dagger.

“There are two large gatherings in the square - one mostly Noldor, the other mostly Sindar - threatening violence. From prior experience it is about one wrong word away from spilling over, but still seems to be a distraction. I have sent Saewion and Osbon to see to the safety of your guests, for we fear what it may be a distraction from. If you, Captain, could take over instructing the guards, I will see to escorting Lord Elrond, and the Lords and Lady, to somewhere more easily defended. Or vice versa, as you think best.”

Lord-Captain Glorfindel had been about to reply, before his Lord Elrond interrupted with a sigh, “I will speak with them, see if we cannot defuse things. Thank you for the report.”

“My Lord, I am not sure-” Deputy-Captain Avornion did not bother to finish his statement, for Lord Elrond, now dressed, pushed past him and out of the door at a sprint.

Erestor immediately ran after him, one hand drawing his dagger from where it was hidden and the other making sure he did not entangle his feet in the reams of fabric. His Glorfindel was only a few steps behind, stopping only to requisition Deputy-Captain Avornion’s sword as he passed.

Really. If there was a gathering threatening to turn into a riot, then his Lord should be precisely nowhere near it. And, if it were a distraction or not - Erestor suspected that the guards were incorrect, that this were bait not distraction - his Lord Elrond should really not be running off alone if there were serious concerns for his safety. It was almost as though he were trying to get himself killed!

That thought made Erestor pause a moment, then pick up pace. Surely his Lord Elrond would not consider such, especially when his Lord Maglor needed him....

The three children were also moving, and Erestor’s heart dropped even further - hopefully they would accept the offer of being taken to safety, but it was unlikely that they would. They were, afterall, after their mother’s heart. 

Indeed, as he moved, he was keenly aware of the twins following them. Still, he did not say anything; he knew they were there, and he could keep them safe only if he knew that. His Glorfindel seemed to have come to the same conclusion, glancing in their vague direction as they chased down their Lord Elrond.

Just at the edge of his hearing, he could hear Lady Arwen’s unnecessarily loud statement of, “fear not, kind one. There is no need for you to worry for my whole family; I will permit you to accompany me to my grandparents, and there guard me.”

The words were a small comfort; Lady Galadriel and his Lord Maglor would never permit harm to come to their granddaughter, if it were in their power to do anything at all. Any more so than he or his Glorfindel would permit it to come to their Elrond or his sons.

His Lord Elrond took an unexpected shortcut; his Glorfindel cursed quietly as they had to correct their route last moment, and Erestor was inclined to agree; his Lord was not supposed to know about that particular secret passage.

He would need to be updating his files.

* * *

Somehow, they managed to loose their Lord Elrond. Erestor was almost amused by the familiarity of losing one of the peredhel, but did not share; his Glorfindel did not need to be thinking he was taking this without the appropriate severity. And, for that matter, neither did anyone else.

Still, he knew where his Lord would be headed, which made this an easier chase than many others. He grabbed his Glorfindel’s hand, dragging him down a side-street. Usually they would be doing much more enjoyable activities down these, but of course the day of the Lady Galadriel’s arrival would also mark tensions reaching a new height.

Their Lord was already speaking by the time they arrived, a slight twinge to his voice that only could only mean that he was using his Maia inheritance to try to lull the people. It was not the worst idea that Erestor had ever heard, and certainly was even one on their list of ways to deal with a crowd, but Erestor was still not certain that this was the distraction - seeing it in person, it seemed even more like bait. Why the guards had not considered it… Well, he supposed either some were involved or they were just less used to these tactics. Both were probable; this many people without any guards involved was just statistically unlikely.

Someone would have to look into it. Thankfully, it was not Erestor’s problem to solve. For once. However ridiculous people were behaving.

Still, his Lord was his Lord and things appeared to be slowly coming down to control. At the very least, some drawn weapons were being sheathed. So Erestor slowed to a calm walk, smoothed down his ruffled robes, and affixed a disproving expression to his face. His Glorfindel did similar, and as one they approached to flank their Lord.

Lord Elrond seemed to barely notice them, and Erestor was afeared as to what would have occurred if it had been someone else coming to his side. Still, he took a deep breath, looking at the crowd, memorising everyone he could. In the group there were a number of hooded figures, but seemingly none of the Lady Galadriel’s entourage. Unless, of course, they were the cloaked figures; everyone else was familiar...

His Glorfindel’s warning about a projectile reached Erestor half a moment before he spotted the spear himself. By the time the information finished processing, his Lord was on his hands and knees on the floor, and his husband had a spear embedded in his shoulder. Erestor found himself between his family and the crowd, knife drawn in an instinctive defensive stance. Pain radiated from his Glorfindel; every so gently he shout his husband out and awaited for the next move.

All was still for a few moments, then the crowd began to scatter. Seeing guards - ones that could actually be trusted to be in anyway competent anyway - go to his Lord’s side, Erestor bolted into the crowd. The knife he kept drawn, but out of the way of others. Three hooded figures had slipped into sidestreets; only one had been at the right angle to throw the spear. He pushed his way through, making for that same street.

He would probably be too late, but he knew these streets. They were his as much as they were his Lord Elrond’s; this was the old town, and after his Lord Celebrimbor died… Well, needless to say his hand had stamped every plan in the early days, and most since. The others he had made a point of reading - it was, afterall, his duty to know every last happening. 

A flash of a cloak - Erestor returned to his mission, darting around that corner. Then another, another, another. On, on, block out his Glorfindel; if he would be fine he would be fine, if he were not it would distract his mission.

The safety of his Lord had to come first.

It always did.

He turned another corner. A crossroads, no flapping cloak to follow and far too many places for an ambush.

Again. He had lost the perpetrator again.

It took a few moments for him to catch his breath, before making a quieter walk back. He would have to find some trustworthy guards, have reports forwarded to him especially as his Glorfindel was-. No, his Glorfindel would be fine. It was just a small injury, and his Lord Elrond was right there. Much worse had been suffered, much further from help. Everything would be well.

Or it would not, but either way there was little he could do.

_ You could check _ a small voice seemed to almost whisper. Erestor dismissed it; there was still work to be done.

As he walked the thought kept creeping back, again and again and again. Still, his focus remained on the path.  _ Watch the path, and do your job. Do not fail your Lord again. _

He tugged his robes a little closer around himself, and spotted something from the corner of his eye. Jewelry of some sort. 

Carefully, wrapping his hand in his robe just incase of a trap, he picked it up. The design was unfamiliar, but distinctly Sindarin; leaves and tiny white gems, in a delicate almost airy bracelet. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and slipped into his pouch; to return to the owner, of course.

However, finding it here… Could it belong to the assailant, having slipped from his wrist as he fled? Certainly it had not collected dirt like it had been there long… And this were not a popular alleyway.

* * *

Returning to the square, Erestor found it empty but for a single guard. The guard did not acknowledge him; she walked along the lines of the cobbles, face down and carefully examining the floor for any detail. Nearby there were surely other guards, watching over their distracted colleague, but they were hidden from sight. Erestor attempted to give her a polite nod - after a few attempts, she finally noticed and offered him a small bow.

For the time of day, the near-silence here was disturbing. Usually people would be sat talking, or hurrying from one place to another.

He began to hurry for the guard-house, where surely he would find at least someone to exchange information with. So long as they were not all out doing of jobs, of course.

Halfway across the courtyard, he spotted the blood still yet to be mopped up. Erestor froze. He stared at it for a long moment, reassessing. He… Had not realised there would be enough blood to stain the cobblestones.

There was nothing that needed doing immediately, surely? He could risk a few moments of distraction?

Considering if he could was, of course, more of a distraction than just checking would be.

He sat himself carefully down exactly where he stood, giving little thought to the guard’s movements and if he might be in her way. She would tell him to move if need truly be.

Reaching out was slow, almost painful. Such was the curse of those born under the ban of the Valar. Still, following his marriage bonds, it was possible to do.

That the bonds were still there was some relief at least.

Upon his husband’s mind he knocked, then waited nearby. There was, afterall, time. 

That his glorfindel’s mind was still shielded was another relief; conscious. 

Quickly, but not quite quickly enough for Erestor’s tastes, he was allowed inside. His Glorfindel was quite clearly in pain, but not enough to consume either of them. There was also that incorruptible sensation unique to his Glorfindel, and Erestor wrapped himself in it. Almost like it was a beautiful blanket curled around him as he read a book.

His Glorfindel had evidently seen the image; there was amusement in his mind.

That his Glorfindel was not sending him words, however, was a concern.

That concern must have been identified, for his Glorfindel quickly wrapped him in reassurances. There was a hint of fear there too, but it tasted of the fear of memory, not the fear of present. 

Erestor chased it down, and found a similar looking spear in the shoulder of a woman in white. He mentally twisted to give his Glorfindel some comfort; he could almost, but not quite, feel fingers in his hair, taste his husband on his lips, hear the soft breaths of an elf close to reverie.

“ _ Thank you, _ ” his Glorfindel seemed exhausted in the words, but no more than would be expected from one who had been injured. “ _ All will be well, my heart. All will be well. _ ”

It was not entirely reassuring, and Erestor did his best to express that.

“ _ When your duty is done, come to me? I am in our rooms, with our Elrond and his children, and your Maglor. Her Grace has wandered off, but I do not think she is one in danger… But you may be. I would… Feel better if I could see you safe. _ ”

Now he had turned to such thinking, Erestor was inclined to abandon his work to return to his Glorfindel’s side. As best as he could, he expressed that.

“ _ Duty first; we both know that… Just come when you can. Maybe bring her Grave with you when you do? Our Elrond is, well, _ ” then the sensation of stress, disturbance and fear replaced actual words.

The sigh that Erestor gave was physical as well as mental, but he gave his Glorfindel his acknowledgement, his love, and pulled away. Ever so gently he closed the connection again, unwilling to risk distraction.

His Glorfindel’s love for him lingered in the back of his head, even as he stood and headed for the guardhouse.

Was it wrong to want his husband? Unlikely so, but there was work to be done.

* * *

The guardhouse was exceptionally quiet. There was not even anyone sat at the front desk. Whilst not entirely unexpected, given the severity of recent events, it was still contrary to protocol.

Still, Erestor needed to speak to someone. He let himself into his Glorfindel’s office, made himself some tea, took some biscuits from the tin, then settled himself back in the waiting room. The cup he used was very distinctively his Glorfindel’s favourite one, in a carefully calculated power play.

Unfortunately, ten minutes later it became apparent that such constructions would be for naught; from one of the side offices strode Lady Galadriel herself, followed by the two elves who should have been on duty.

Erestor had been planning to have words with them, but if the Lady was involved it seemed hardly fair. She turned her gaze to him, giving a small if distant smile. 

“Councilor,” she dipped her head in a slightly more respectful greeting than tank necessitated.

“Your grace,” he gave a short bow in turn. So this is where she had gotten to.

She took that as an invitation to approach, taking the bracelet from his hands to examine herself. After a few moments, she handed it back to him, and said not a word.

“My lady?” the words were spoken with more caution than Erestor would usually speak, but speaking with the Lady of Lothlorien often toed a complicated line.

“Seek the owner. Maybe you will find him, maybe you will not, but the enquiries will someday bear fruit.”

There was no point in questioning the Lady’s words; Erestor knew that it would be pointless, and a waste of everybody’s time. The Lady of Lothlorien did not grant clear answers to even simple enquiry, let alone when giving it barely prompted. If only she could speak in terms such as yes for yes and no for no, and everyone would have a much simpler time of things. But, no, that was not her way.

It was not even as though she were suggesting he do something that had not already been his intended course of action.

She also seemed to have finished dispensing wisdom, for she turned to leave; Erestor made his way over to the guards, explaining what he had seen and found, and requesting copies or reports be sent to him as soon as possible. However, when he also turned to go - an agreement that he would follow the Lady’s words and seek to track down the owner of the bracelet, using his personal contacts from Eregion reached with the guard - he found her still standing there, hand on the door handle.

“Lady Lothlorien?” he kept his voice respectful, eyes narrowing as he tried to identify her problem. “Are you well?”

She did not turn as she spoke, still frozen. And, if anything, her voice was even more distant than before. Still, there was ancient strength within it, echoing thoughts into the very room.

“It is not Eru’s way to turn disharmony to a greater, more splendid, theme? Are not all things within his power, and the song he conducts designed to turn defeat to glory, death to life, grief to joy? Must we not then trust his love and his goodness? That is what we must believe in and trust, else surely then all hope for our peoples is lost… No matter who is harmed, so matter what we face, no matter if the sun is consumed and the darkness returns… Still we must be faithful and tall... Know ye my words to be true, councilor?”

For once, her questions did not sound rhetorical. It was hard to detect the hesitation, the genuine uncertainty, but doing such was one of the skills he had practiced for so very long. 

Still, finally swept her way out of the guardhouse without giving a chance for a reply, leaving the memory of her presence in her wake. 

Erestor followed swiftly after, actually saying farewell to the guardsmen as he went.

* * *

The forges were, as always, a hive of activity. Just as it had been in Ost-in-Edhil. Then again, that was not terribly a surprise; the more experienced of Imladris’ smiths were refugees from there, afterall. Knowing that it was pointless to even attempt to get the attention of a craftsman engrossed so in his craft, Erestor folded his arms and stood in the doorway. He did not have all day, but he could pretend he did.

Life carried on here, oblivious to recent events. He did not think they did not care, only that they were so dedicated to their hammers and their jewels that nobody had actually noticed.

It was almost reassuring, in a way. Still, the distraction of smiths was how the rings were forged and Eregion fell. Upon that reflection, it was not reassuring at all.

Eventually, one of the apprentices was sent to fetch something. The girl quite literally walked into Erestor before she noticed him, busy doodling a design for… what appeared to be some form of particularly elaborate kettle. The look of utter surprise at the contact with Erestor was endearing; it took an active effort for Erestor to prevent his face from slipping into an amused smile.

“Sir! My Lord! I am sorry! Please, sorry, um,” she back off a little, and Erestor readjusted his glare to try and terrify her slightly less. “I did not notice you! I was- Sorry!”

“I need to speak to one of the senior smiths immediately. I will wait in the supervisor’s office.”

“Of course, of course,” she bolted back into the forges.

Erestor shook his head - even here it seemed that the Mírdain were the same - and wandered towards the office. He picked a chair he liked, and set about untangling the bracelet from its cloth.

“Erestor!” the bright voice of Cadwordor announced the smith’s arrival. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Does your sword need repairing again?”

“Not quite,” Erestor stood and gave a low bow to the smith, earning a laugh. “I have some lost jewelry, but need help tracking down the owner. I was wondering if you could find the maker that I might ask?”

“Of course, of course, just let me clean my hand,” Cadwordor was tall, even for an elf, and broad-shouldered like few others. Once he had been the poster-boy of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, as beautiful as he was skilled, and they had served together as two of ten on Eregion’s council. Still his mind was as sharp as a needle, but with Eregion’s fall…

Well, Erestor’s scars were at least subtle, and from many events. Cadwordor had lost a hand an a foot to infection following their escape, and what skin was visible beneath the near permanent layer of soot was mottled with cruel scars.

Still, he had taught himself his craft once more, and moved with as much grace as he ever had. Not an awful lot, but then Cadwordor had never been built to dance or climb. What had been learnt would never outweigh what had been lost, but now he stood - crutch and prosthetic and all - as an example to all of the resilience of the Eldar.

“It is not your norm to come seeking us,” Cadwordor continued talking as he cleaned the soot from his hands - both real and prosthetic. “It must be valuable, for you to grace the forges with your presence… You should come by more often. Maybe then the teas I keep for you would be used before going stale.”

“Not quite,” Erestor handed it over as soon as the hand was offered, watching carefully the reactions. Part of him was flattered that tea was kept for him, but he could not allow the conversation to be distracted. “But I have reason to suspect the owner may have attempted to assassinate our Lord Elrond.”

There was a vague noise of acknowledgement to the words, as Cadwordor turned the bracelet over in his hand. After a few moments he froze and looked up, “pardon?”

Erestor raised an eyebrow, waiting for the smith to finish processing the information.

“Aulë’s bejeweled tits! Why? Is anyone hurt? What happened?” the smith stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“Calm down,” Erestor sighed, holding one hand up in an attempt at placating his former colleague. He himself was not entirely calm about the situation either, but panic would assist little “My Lord-Captain Glorfindel was injured protecting our Lord Elrond from the blow, but otherwise nobody has been harmed. There was a large gathering on the verge of a fight, we attempted to calm it, and someone threw a spear at our Lord. That there were multiple decoys implies to me it was intentional, and I seek the perpetrator before anything else occurs.”

“Will the Lord-Captain Glorfindel be well?” 

Erestor closed his eyes a moment, trying to stop his mask from slipping. His Glorfindel would be well or he would not, and nothing he did would change that. Certainly he seemed close enough to well when they spoke, but what if he were not... “our Lord Elrond is seeing to him.”

Cadwordor hummed in acknowledgement as he turned the bracelet over in his hands as he examined every last inch of it, “I am not entirely certain who made it, for it lacks maker’s marks, but I... Hm…” he turned it over again. “I have made some of these; over the last few months a large number of different elves have ordered them. I can find you the list, given the circumstances, but it is still a good fifty or sixty elves.”

Erestor nodded his head, frowning slightly. Fifty would take time, but was at least a lead, “I can assist you with drawing it up; your records are at least better formatted than the brewer’s guild’s.”

“You will do no such thing,” the smith gave Erestor a slightly quirked grin and a wave of his false hand. “I will have the list on your and Avornion’s desks by sunset. You, however, are going to go to the healing halls and find your husband.”

“He is in our rooms, not the healing halls. But I must check on the guard’s progress before I return.”

“Erestor,” Cadwordor’s words were sharp, but kind. He had pulled out some files, and was leafing through them. “You cannot always have all the cards in hand; go to him.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes at his almost friend, studying him for a few very long moments. He nodded, then swept out of the room without another word.

As he stalked his way back to the house, he opened his mind back to his Glorfindel. There was concern, then he attempted to express his displeasure at his dismissal, and then his Glorfindel quite distinctly laughed.

His Glorfindel had the most beautiful laugh...


	14. Elrond: When The Darkness Closes In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond tries to hold it together. He sort of does, but once something breaks, it takes more than determination to fix it.
> 
> Thankfully, he has access to some very, very old books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The early part of this chapter is a mostly unfixable mess, but needed to happen. The whole chapter is an emotional ride. I hope it proves to be a satisfying one, despite how long has passed.

Up in Glorfindel and Erestor’s shared bedroom, maybe ten minutes after the incident in the courtyard, Elrond sat examining the wound in Glorfindel’s shoulder. The spear had been cut to a manageable length in the courtyard, then the remainder removed only once Elrond was ready to begin cleaning and stitching. Thankfully, it had not been barbed, and the time it took to get upstairs had given him a chance to calm a little. Treating injuries with shaking hands lead to avoidable mistakes. 

Arwen had met then at Glorfindel and Erestor’s quarters, hugging each in turn with worried words, before sweeping her brothers to sit by the fire. Elrond, meanwhile, lead Glorfindel to the bed and began work.

He did not realise that he was working silently - removing, washing, stitching - until Glorfindel ever so nervously asked him if the injury had been poisoned. Surprised, Elrond looked up.

“I can see no indication of such; there’s no irritation, you have no fever or other symptoms. I will of course keep a close eye on you, but I do not think the risk is very high,” he offered Glorfindel part of a smile. “Do you suspect otherwise?”

“I… Have bad experiences with surprise thrown weapons,” the words were uncharacteristically uncertain.

Elrond had to think a moment longer than he usually would to work out what Glorfindel was referencing, “we have a much greater knowledge of these things now; as I said, I will keep a close eye on you. I will not let you die again.”

“You may have to,” Glorfindel’s voice remained strained.

“We both know neither of us would ever do that to Erestor,” the words were light on purpose, Elrond very aware of the fact he was trying to mask his own anxiety.

Thankfully, before Glorfindel could call him out on it, there was a knock at the door. Arwen went to answer it, revealing a harried looking guard and a frantic Maglor. Lady Galadriel was probably also supposed to be there, but Elrond sorely envied anyone who could ask her to do something she did not wish to, and have her listen.

Just as Elrond started to get up to go to him, Maglor rushed past Arwen and came came to perch on the other side of the bed. Maglor’s grey eyes moved quickly even as his body stiled, examining Elrond’s everything - from his face to the traces of Glorfindel’s blood on his hands. Even Glorfindel dared not move as he did so. 

Indeed, only Elrond moved; snipping the last of the stitching thread and putting the needle on a tray to be sterilized later, before turning properly to his foster father. The moment broken, Glorfindel shifted so he was less between the two of them, and Maglor reached over to very gently cup Elrond’s cheek. When he spoke, there was the promise of vengeance in his voice, “someone is trying to hurt you.”

“Atto, please, it is fine; Erestor is looking into it, and I am certain the Lady Galadriel is also doing so,” Elrond tried to keep the words calm, but more than anything they were tried.

“You let  _ Erestor _ go off and investigate this alone?” Maglor’s words pitched from threat to something between exasperation and fear.

“I doubt that the guards will not escort him, especially given his rank…” Elrond realised his mistake, trying to offer some reassurance. And distinctly ignoring the look from Glorfindel that assured him that Erestor was anything but with guards.

He was tugged roughly against Maglor’s chest; surely the movement must have caused his father undue, extortionate pain, but there was not even a flinch as he was gripped tightly and tucked under the Fëanorian's chin. About to say something, Elrond realised that his father was silently sobbing into his hair.

“Atto?”

Maglor said nothing, just continued to cling to Elrond and cry. Glorfindel looked exceptionally awkward, trapped between them and the headboard, whilst the twins were at the fireplace arguing quietly over which tea to make. It was obviously them simply trying to alleviate the tension; at a first glance, only Arwen with her embroidery seemed unaffected. Still, there was a tension in her posture that made Elrond distinctly uncomfortable. He should… How did he try and reduce this stress? How did he make everyone feel better? And how could he keep them safe?

A thousand plans came to mind, and a thousand and two dismissed as impossible. Just as he was beginning to consider the next - maybe they should just all go live with one of the Avari tribes and ignore the politics but then which and where and - the door opened. Very quickly Elrond was shoved behind Maglor, who grabbed Glorfindel’s sword from the bed and brandished at the intruder.

Erestor walked in, looked pointedly at the sword, closed the door behind him and glared down Maglor until he returned the sword. Erestor nodded, gave a polite bow, and went to sit beside his husband. Elrond watched Erestor take Glorfindel’s hand, clutching it to his chest as the two of them spoke quietly. 

Feeling incredibly awkward, he slipped properly onto his feet, brushed off his words, and took a step away. Maglor mirrored the movement, remaining between him and the door.

“The injury needs keeping an eye on, but should heal without lasting effect or complication,” Elrond promised to both Erestor and Glorfindel. 

“He will actually be well, or are you just saying that to save yourself, my Lord?” Erestor’s words bit, but then the counsellor had seen him lie to pacify more than once.

Elrond raised his eyebrows at Erestor, finding himself too exhausted to reply fully to his friend. There were very few people he would lie to about that, and certainly Erestor was not one of them.

“I will be,” Glorfindel moved to take Erestor’s hands, laying them over the bandage. “There is no poison, and I have taken worse injury and recovered fully.”

The look that the Counsellor and Captain shared seemed uncomfortably personal to Elrond, so he retreated over to the fireplace. Unexpectedly, but unsurprisingly once given a moment more consideration than Elrond did, Maglor followed. Elladan hopped from his place on the settee to instead perch on the arm of Elrohir’s chair, and Arwen gave a small bow of her head to them both. He smiled his thanks to his sons, it feeling strained even to Elrond himself, before sitting gracefully down.

Maglor immediately sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him to rest against him.

“Atto,” Elrond tried to make his displeasure evident in his voice as he tried to sit back up.

Arwen suppressed a laugh, and Maglor looked down at him with fond exhaustion. 

“As if you would do any different if someone had tried to kill one of us,” Elladan’s smile and chipper tone were forced, though Elrohir’s snort most likely was not.

A kiss was pressed onto Elrond’s hair, before his father forced him to look at his shaking hands. He bought them up to examine, almost forgetting the presence of the others in the room. Something seemed almost foreign about the appendages, yet still they were distinctly his own as they shook.

“I will not let anyone hurt you.”

It took Elrond a moment to realise those words were in the present, spoken softly by a Maglor sat with him, and not by a memory. A memory of being very small, of crying for his injured brother and in fear of the blood-stained men around him - and the bloodstained man holding him. Of the same words, whispered by the same person at very different times.

The conviction in Maglor’s words was both reassuring and terrifying.

“Please do not hurt anyone,” Elrond whispered back.

“I will hurt exactly who I need to to keep you safe,” Maglor retorted, the words quiet but hard.

Those words were not reassuring. Fear momentarily gripped at Elrond, memories of Sirion appearing in his mind. Blood and fire and unending grief. Sirion shifted into Imladris itself; if someone heard his atto say he was willing to kill again - for any reason - the situation would become far, far more dangerous. Even more so than it already was.

But, before he could express his concern, Elrond looked up and met Elladan’s concerned eyes. A quick glance around, and he saw the same worry reflected in those of Elrohir and Arwen. The only reprieve was that he could still hear Erestor and Glorfindel quietly scolding each other for their lack of concern about personal safety, so it was unlikely that his advisors were doing the same.

“I am fine; I was not hurt,” he promised his children, offering them a smile that felt weak even on his own face. They did not seem the slightest bit reassured, so instead he gestured them over and pulled them into a hug. Or, as much of one as he could give them with his own atto being unwilling to release him.

“Someone tried to kill you,” it was Elrohir who spoke, voice earnest as it often was. “You cannot just pretend everything is fine; we know it is not.”

“And do what instead? I am not an investigator or a guard; the skills I have are irrelevant to the situation. I will be more careful of what is going on, I will stay closer to other people, but there is little else I can do without interfering. We just have to carry on,” the words sounded like a lie to himself. Elrohir might have bought it, but Elladan looked especially unconvinced.

Still, nobody pushed the matter further, and they simply held one another quietly. Just as they tried to give Glorfindel and Erestor what privacy the situation allowed for, the couple did the same for them.

And that was how, a little before sunset, Lady Galadriel found them.

Elrond was vaguely aware of her discussing something with Erestor, before she came and took the chair by the fire which Arwen had used earlier. He gestured to offer her to join the hug, but she shook her head with a kind, if sad, smile, and turned to stare into the flames as though they held all of the answers.

Maybe they did.

It was not as though Elrond knew exactly where else one would look.

* * *

Early the next morning, when things had died down a little but still long before sunrise, Elrond sat in his own office. The guards at the door - former bodyguards of King Gil-Galad himself - occasionally glanced disapprovingly at seeing him still awake.

But there was no manner in which he could possibly sleep; every time he tried… Every time he came close, he saw Glorfindel - his captain, his _ friend _ \- bleeding again. Again taking a blow meant for him. Just, this time, it would be fatal.

So Elrond refused to sleep.

The list of suspects that Avornion had bought Glorfindel, with notes from Erestor added to the margins, sat discarded to one side. Elrond had tried staring at it for answers, but there were none; mostly the suspects were of Doriath or Sirion of old or there descendants, though of course there were the usual troublemakers included. The current working theory was it was the actions of scared people, or angry people, unsettled by Maglor’s presence. Unable to take out the person causing their concerns, they had instead lashed out at the Lord who asked them to put history aside.

It was not an unfair suggestion; certainly, such sentiments had been heard around the settlement. That Maglor had bewitched him, that Celebrian’s departure had left him weak to suggestion… Logically, he knew it to be understandable thinking.

But emotionally? He could not quite understand why people wanted to hate. Why they wanted to do the enemy’s work for him. Where had he done wrong, that his people were so inclined? What had he done? What had he not?

For all he had done everything within his power to reassure his children, his father and his friends, the act had left him drained and empty. Where was hope? Where was joy? They had sailed with his Celebrian. Or maybe she had been but a moment's respite, and they had died with Gil-Galad or Maedhros. Had sailed with Elros, or with Eärendil. Flown on the wings of Elwing. Been beaten from the world as life was beaten from Celebrimbor. The momentary meaning which Maglor had bought him was dead, killed with the spear in Glorfindel's flesh. Elrond knew there must some, maybe even the hopes he had offered his children, but to his heart they were meaningless.

The world was grey and dying, good men doing evil deeds, and all turning to ash.

But here he still was, seeking answers to questions he didnot quite dare formulate enough to ask.

Was there a future? Would there ever be peace? Could darkness be driven back?

Could he learn to hope again?

The list held no answers, and neither did the report it was attached to. The answer of the stars seemed to be no, for even Gil-Estel was hidden behind thick clouds.

Maybe... Maybe no was an answer he would have to learn to accept.

Turning away with the intention of maybe trying to sleep again or, failing that, sending for some tea, a book caught his eye. It was the Adûnaic text so recently rediscovered. Though it had obviously been recopied many times - to the point that the handwriting was not even a close match - Elrond had recognised the turns of words it used, when asked to look it over, and instantly claimed it to translate himself. He could almost picture what it should have looked like… 

Well, if the guards and the stars held no answers, maybe his twin did.

It was worth a try at least. Anything to try and halt the tendrils of despair he could feel wrapping around his heart.

The earlier parts of the tome he had already worked through - mostly, it was Elros’ notes from various meetings, dating to the latter years of his reign. WIth all the recent excitement, he had not managed to progress very far.

Rather than pick back up where he left off, Elrond gently scanned the ancient pages for . As he did so, he vaguely registered the fact that he could hear Lady Galadriel singing a lament for her lost brothers.

It ached with raw sorrow, an unhealed wound even after so long. Elrond thought he could sympathise. It certainly resonated in his own soul.

The last entry was styled differently to the others, and not only in the fact it was just paragraphs of text: it was written in Quenya. But that was not what drew Elrond’s eyes; it was seeing his own name.

Moving to the start of the entry, he began to read.

‘ _ I think that I shall die today. I summoned my family - what of it I could reach - some time ago, but today it finally feels right. My children are with me, and my children’s children, and their’s. They are all good people, and I love them very dearly. I have made right every trespass that I could, and made peace with all the others I ever will. The sun is bright, and Gil-Estel did not set last night. I wonder if he knows? I wonder if Atar has not returned to Naneth that he might stay with me as I die. _

‘ _ It is a nice thought. That some of my elven family might be with me as I pass beyond, that they will be with me to the end. _

‘ _ Not only all of those reasons do I think it is time to die, but I fear if I live much longer that my dear Aulendil is going to request funding for another wild project of his. I love my grandson, to the point I cannot bring myself to refuse them, but I am afraid for the treasury! _

_ ‘I jest, I jest. All of my descendants are perfect just as they are, and I love them dearly.  _

_ ‘But as for why I am writing here… There is one trespass that I can neither correct nor forgive myself for. It is my hope that, by writing these words in a book of records, they will eventually find their way to someone who can pass my message on. _

_ ‘Once upon a time, when the age was young and Beleriand fell, I had a brother. A twin brother, of all things. He was for a very long time my sun and my moon, my hope and my joy, half of my soul and all of my heart. His name is Elrond, and he walks the path of the Eldar. If anyone who reads this every finds their way to middle earth, or finds out my twin has found his way to Aman and can thereby write to him, please… Please, I beg of you, not as your king but as one man with regrets to another, give him this message. Or maybe it is you, Elrond, reading this. You always were inclined to stick your nose in old books of no concern to you - that is the other reason I write it here, that maybe you will find it for yourself… Anyway, the letter, incase someone needs to copy it out and send it across Middle Earth: _

_ ‘Elrond, Elrond, my twin and my heart and my soul, who stood by me in everything until we tore ourselves apart; I beg of you, forgive me. Not for my choice, not for the choice that tore us apart - I have come to realise that I will never understand why you wanted to live forever, but that also you will never understand why I want the chance to go beyond - but for hurting you with it. For not discussing it with you properly, but instead running away. _

_ ‘You know? I always thought we would be able to come back from the Isle of the Gift. That I would sail away, but come back a few years later when our tempers had died down and we could be brothers again. I was wrong - there is, at current, no way back across the sea. I think maybe someday there will be, and I have tried to wait until then. But I am old, Elrond. I may not look it, but I feel it sometimes. The valar granted me the blessing of choosing the hour of my death, and I think I must chose it soon. _

_ ‘My Alalmien died nearly a century ago now, and I do not want her to have to wait too long for me. More than that… I think that my Vardamir is going to die soon, too. He does not get to choose, and I have no desire to outlive my son. It is not proper for a mortal, to bury their children. Especially one so long lived as I. _

_ ‘To get to the point, I suppose - and forgive the ramblings of an old man. I was ever so angry with you when you made your choice, just as you were with me, but I am not any more. I forgive you, and hope you can forgive me; I always meant to return, I swear that to you. I never meant to leave you alone - what sort of elder brother would I then be? I love you. You were everything to me for so very long. All I had, the only consistency in my life. Living without you… It is like being without part of my soul. Since we parted, I have never been whole, and I do not think I will be until we are united once again. For, I do not believe we will be sundered forever, whatever our choices were made to be. I do not believe Eru so cruel as to part us not only in this world, but also in the next.  _

_ ‘When the final battle comes… I will see you there! I will greet you, and tell you all the things I thought to write before realising it were pointless - that I could just tell you when we meet. I pray you are happy, wherever you are. I pray you are safe and loved and the stars shine as brightly for you as they do for me! Smile for me, love for me, be the kind and beautiful elf I know you to be! I am not certain what the ending of your tale is, only that you will do great things in the time that is given to you. Of course you will; elves are just a little slower to reach them than men. You are my brother: there is nothing that my twin could be but great! Amazing! Loving and beloved! And my brother, this world is beautiful and amazing, and despite great darkness, great grief and great cruelty, hope and light and kindness will always win; the darkness is transient, it will always fall should you shine a torch to it. No matter what you are going through today, remember that tomorrow - or maybe the next day - it will be merely the shadow of a memory. I shall not say farewell to you, for this is not our final goodbye; though my story has reached its ending, there will be another - a sequel in a new and brighter dawn! _

_ ‘For I tell you now with the eyes of death, not just as a promise but as a prophecy: _

_ ‘I will see you on the other side!’ _

Ever so gently, Elrond closed the book and held it to his chest. He curled around it, unaware of neither the starlight begining once more to poke through the clouds, nor the tears dripping from his face.

His brother.. His chaotic, hopeful, mortal twin. His sky and his stars, his right arm and left leg… Half of his soul, and all of his heart. His brother had not hated him, not in the end. He could not find the hope of seeing his brother again, not as Elros evidently had, but this… To know he was forgiven, just as he forgave Elros long ago… He wept, for the words they might have had. For the break in his heart torn open again, for the wounds on it that could never heal. His brother was gone, millenia dead, and his descendants occasionally visiting. 

But, despite his tears, despite the situation, despite everything…

Elrond smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will see you next time, whenever that proves to be.


End file.
